Take back eternity
by PurplePlumPie
Summary: Harry Potter's life was miserable. Then he died. Death feels that he is not ready yet to take on the position as Master of Death and transfers his soul to a parallel universe. Slow build up/ Wammy's house
1. Chapter 1

Hey!

I just wanted to tell you guys that english isn't my first language. I learned english in school and also spent a year in Canada. My first language is german thus I wanted to apologize for any mistakes. I also don't have a beta reader.

There won't be a pairing as of now but that might change in the future. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 1

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that it stank. The air smelled dusty and he was pretty sure that something was rotting somewhere. Still lying on the couch he reached up with his left hand and rubbed over his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Faded light shone through the dirty curtains but it barely managed to light up the room. From what he could tell it had to be early in the morning but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of a lot of things recently. He didn't even know how long he slept for he always felt unrested. Sleeping was a curse and a sanctuary for him at the same time. A curse, because he had to watch and relive some of his worse memories over and over again, but then again, while asleep he doesn't have to worry about tomorrow. He could escape reality and most importantly, he doesn't have to pretend. Pretending, something he has done his whole life. Pretending to be a hero, pretending to be unfazed by the outcome of the war, pretending to be happy and finally, pretending not to wish he was dead as well. How many people must have died as a result of the war? How many families must have been destroyed, teared apart by Voldemort. But it was also his fault, if he had killed him sooner, if he just… and yet, he was not allowed to grieve for the lost for the living made his life hell. And yet, they didn't leave him alone.

Harry set up and stopped for a moment, the world was spinning around him and bright lights flashed in front of his eyes. After a few minutes of waiting he got up and walked to the bathroom. It was not far, just a few steps away from where he had laid. He made his way carefully through the mess. The flat was small but not necessarily comfortable. The bathroom door squeaked when Harry opened it. He flipped the light switch and the lightbulb flickered. A dim light lightened up the small bathroom. Harry looked at himself in cracked mirror. He was pale, one might say too pale. He had these dark purplish rings under his, what seemed emotionless, eyes. He wasn't shaved. All in all, not that bad all considered. Last week he had almost lost his job at the ministry as an Unspeakable. If he had to tell someone what happened, he would say that all stored up and bottled up feelings and frustrations overrun him at once and he just snapped. He couldn't stand the stares anymore, he couldn't stand the probing questions and comments about the war which was a regular occurrence, even three and a half years after the war. And the wariness people seemed to adopt around him, the paranoid eyes which followed him. He just couldn't stand living in a society like the current one anymore. He snapped. Poor guy who happened to be there to the wrong time.

For a week now he was alone with himself and his tortures mind in the small flat he rented in Muggle-London. Today he had to go to the ministry to determine how long his suspension will last. He hoped forever, maybe he should just quit anyways.

Harry started to strip of his clothes. He stepped out of his pyjamas he had worn for the past few days and left them carelessly on the floor. The water that came out of the showerhead was cold. It sprayed over his face and ran over his whole body. Trying to relax for once, he closed his eyes and tried to let go of the tension. It was harder than he thought. He was always on guard. The water washed away the cold nights sweat from one of his nightmares. If only the water could wash away his thoughts as easily. Wasn't water supposed to be cleansing? Yet he still felt the same. He turned the water colder and colder until he shivered. But the water couldn't awake him from the trance-like state he was living in. He just stood there some minutes, not sure how to move. His limbs were frozen and out of his control. The water spraying onto the shower floor was the only sound.

Harry wanted to stop breathing, just to not disturb the sound. Suddenly breathing seemed like a burden to him, if he could just stop, but no. He snapped out of the dangerous thoughts and quickly washed himself. Then he stepped out of the shower, almost slipping. Dripping wet he looked at himself in the mirror again. Maybe he should really shave. His black wet curls hung sadly in his face. He was definitely not looking forward going to the ministry again.

* * *

Harry hated the entrance in the underground toilets of Whitehall. Why would any serious authority put their main entrance for the employees in some old dirty toilets? A bit reluctant Harry stepped into the toilet bowl. Not even after the three and a half years he was used to it. Whenever he thought he was okay with stepping into a toilet; he was hit by a wall of reek. Nevertheless he flushed himself down. The travel was short and disorientating. It felt like he was squeezed through an uncomfortable tight tube. Another thing he was not getting used to. After a few minutes he felt hard ground under his feet. His legs gave up under him and he fell forward and out of the fireplace onto the marble floor. It was cold under his hands. He got up and straightened his clothes. Directly in front of him was the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He looked at it disgusted and turned away; he just couldn't stand looking at it. The Houseelf reminded him too much of Dobby and then his heart arched. He looked at the Centaur and thought of Fierenze. He tried to distract himself quickly. With long strides he crossed the atrium and by a guard. They knew that he worked here and didn't ask for his wand.

In the elevator he met a few familiar faces but he ignored them. He was not in the mood for the occasional chit-chat. They glanced at him warily and turned away. Typical. At level 9 he got out, long after all the others left. Level 9 was the Department of Mysteries, or in other words, where the Unspeakables work. Harry walked along the long corridor. The black bare walls were soothing for him. There were no windows or doors, except for the one on the end of the hallway. When he reached it, he hesitated. This could be the end, he thought. Then he waited, to see how he felt with that idea. He felt nothing, not even regret or sorrow. After 3 and a half years he had no real connection to this work. He had passion for all the knowledge he acquired here, he felt passion for all the secrets lying within these halls but he didn't feel that same kind of passion for his work. With that thought he went through the door.

Standing in the middle of the room with identical doors on the wall, he pulled out his wand. He took a second to block out the memories of the faithful night Sirius died. For a moment, a split second, he thought he could hear his laugh. Harry shook his head to let the thought go. It was still difficult to pass through these halls and not to think of Sirius. He made the familiar wand movement and called out "Office, Crowly". Crowly was his supervisor. The doors started to spin in a dizzy speed and finally they were so fast that they formed just one single door. The door spun another round or to lazily before it came to a stop. Harry went to it and knocked.

The office was stylish furnished. In the centre of it was a grand wood table. Behind it sat an elderly man with grey hair. He was thin and had stern eyes.

"Mr. Potter, good that you are here. Please, have a seat", he said with a raspy voice. Harry nodded and sat down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. It was uncomfortable, probably on purpose.

"You know why you are here? Yes? Good. So you know in what difficult situation I am in right now. You are good Potter, not to say very good. Your work in the Time chamber is exceptional, not to speak what you have done to the prophecy room. Impressive work. But on the other hand, Mr. Potter, you have a lot of eyes on you, especially after the war and everybody expecting that you would join the Aurors. How in the world did you think it would be a good idea to beat up the Undersecretary of the Minister? Hm, explain that to me", Crowly looked intensively at Harry.

"He looked at me weirdly and asked me to retell how I defeated Voldemort?", hearing his own words Harry knew that they sounded ridiculous. He had had a bad day when it happened. Crowly sighed deeply.

"You know, some people would like me to fire you. But, I think a four month suspension would be enough. Go pack your things you need from your desk and don't show your face till the suspension is up", with these words Crowly ended the conversation.

"Yes Sir", said Harry and left the office. He felt strangely empty. True, he didn't like his work but what else would he do in these four months? Back in the room with the doors he repeated the same procedure like last time but said "Time chamber" instead of "Office, Crowly". Again the doors spun and spun till only one was left. Harry stepped through it. He was greeted by the familiar sight of his workplace. Or, what he had worked at before he beat someone up. He walked up to his desk and gripped some parchments he thought he would need. He felt someone starring at him and looked up. Somebody was standing in front of him. His instincts screamed at him to run, to move or to hide. He didn't know the person, he was dressed in all dark and had a hard face. He knew in that moment that he was going to die. A wand was directed at him and before he could raise his own wand or dodge the spell, he heard "Avada Kedavra". The second last thing he saw was the cold and smug eyes of his killer. The last thing was a brilliant green light. Green like his eyes, how ironic. He didn't think about that he would die or that he would see some friends again. His last thought was that maybe he should have joined the Aurors after all. The world shifted. Did his mother feel the same?

* * *

He didn't see his life flashing in front of his eyes, there was also no tunnel and therefor no light. There was just black emptiness and silence. Suddenly he was weightless and filled with a deep calmness. It was dark around him, he thought it might be cold but in fact, he didn't feel anything at all. The rising panic was washed away by indifference and insensibility. It was like he was floating in ice water, everything was numb. He couldn't, just couldn't feel his body anymore. It was like he didn't exist anymore. But he couldn't bring himself to be disturbed by it. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but this eerie numbness and the creeping calmness. How odd, he thought.

"You are dead but also not, childe. Your body has been destroyed but your soul and magic are strong. Tell me Harry, are you content with the life you lead?", the voice was endless and ageless and seemed to hover over Harry. As much as Harry wanted to force his eyes more open, he could just see the blackness. What an odd question, was he content? The answer would outright be "no". All the death, the pain and the sacrifices he couldn't forget. He wouldn't forget. The memories of the war have imprinted themselves on his very soul never to be eared. But he also didn't want to erase them if only to give them a meaning. He doesn't want to forget and really wanted to escape his dreadful life. Nothing seemed to ease his pain. His friends were dead, or so it seemed to Harry, have forgotten him. They moved on when he couldn't, wouldn't. He had a job, sure, he had a flat, yes, he had food, yes, but what differed his life from merely existing? What made his life worth living, kept him going, day after day, week after week? The answer is that he doesn't know, he just couldn't give up.

"I see, boy, you have made a choice. Your body in your universe has been destroyed beyond repair. But you are the master of mine after all. I feel that you are not ready yet for your destined task as master of death. I will send you to a parallel universe where magic doesn't exist. Your other "you" would have died today, your soul will take his place. Since magic doesn't exist there, but I also can't separate it from you without damaging your very soul, it will take on another form. It will turn inwards and you will find your mind improved and you will heal faster. Outwards, your magic manifests as empathy, you may see auras and have visions of the past, the now and the future. Now Harry, does that sound fair to you?", the being, also now known as death, proposed. Harrys head won't stop spinning. A chance, a chance, a new life, a life without pain. If only he knew, but now, now it was perfect. He felt a breath on his face. He caught a glimpse of glowing red eyes, something in him shifted and then he felt a pull. The pull grew more and more until it was nearly unbearable. He wanted to scream but no sound escaped his open mouth. It was so dark, he didn't know if his eyes were open or closed. His magic expanded inside of him and filled him inside out. His head exploded with pain. And then, when he thought it couldn't get worse, it stopped. It was like time stood still. His magic pulsed within him. Then, it exploded; agony took over him, then, nothing.

When Harry woke up again everything was still black. It was another blackness, not as deep and endless. The air smelled mouldy and blood stained. He had a stale taste in his mouth. His whole body hurt and he couldn't move or even lift a finger. He laid in something wet, it smelled coppery. It must be blood, he thought, a little bit surprised. He could just lay there; he couldn't tell how much time has passed. All he could feel and concentrate on was the pain that traveled through his limbs. It was a different pain from before. His magic felt like it was burning him, changing him. Now, he felt that maybe his left leg was broken and probably a few ribs. His stomach and back felt bruised. His right hand felt like somebody stepped on it. His head hurt him and he was a little bit glad for the darkness, it soothed his eyes. Where was he? From above he could see small lines of light, also small lines of light to his right. It formed a door. A pretty small door. A familiar door. No, he thought, no this can't be true! He was supposed to have a happy life now; he wasn't supposed to feel any pain.

Suddenly his body heated up again and waves of heat traveled through his limbs. His injuries heated up the most. Maybe this could be his healing abilities? Then a wave traveled to his head and filled him up. Before he fell unconscious he thought what a pity it was that he was back in the cupboard under the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey!

Thank you for the comments, I really appreciate it. I am always open for critic. Also, I am on vacation right now that means that I have a lot of time to write :)

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Harry woke up to banging on the door. He hasn't woken up to a noise like that for a long time.

"Freak, get up and make breakfast! Who do you think you are to sleep in like this?", he heard Petunias piercing high voice scream. He heard the locks click open. So his assumptions were right, he was back in the cupboard under the stairs. Weird, to his time there was always only one lock at the door of the cupboard. He did a quick body check like he used to during the war. Nothing hurt, not like yesterday. His muscles felt a little sore and his heard was arching but everything was manageable. He still lied in blood. Now, because it was daytime and light shown through the rills of the door, he could see more. The cupboard stayed the same; it was exactly how he remembered it from his childhood. Even the drawings were still on the walls. It was a drawing of three stick figures. A tall man, a tall woman and a little kid, this was supposed to be his family. A little embarrassed he had to admit that he sometimes even talked to them. It was mostly only when he was locked in for several days and he got lonely or the hunger pains got too much for him to handle. But what irritated him was that he fitted into the crowded space for his adult body this must too small. A lot too small. He always thought the only reason he had fit into the cupboard as an eleven year old was because he was too small for his age due to the malnourishment. Thanks aunty and uncle.

Petunia returned and banged again against the door. This was obviously his last warning. Quickly Harry scrambled to his knees and opened the door. The bright light blinded him for a second and Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second. This was also why he didn't see Dudley approaching; maybe he should have heard the loud thumps which seemed to follow his overweight cousin. Anyways, Dudley gave him a good shove to the shoulder and Harry felt backwards, back into the cupboard.

"You look like shit", was Dudley's only comment as he made his way to the dining area. Harry felt painfully on his butt but the area he felt on headed up instantly. It was kind of reassuring to know that nothing that the Dursleys could do could really hurt him. They seemed more violent than in his own universe. Poor other-Harry, he probably died because of Vernon, the fat pig.

"Harry, move your lazy ass over here before I beat it to shreds!", echoed Petunias lovely voice out of the kitchen. Harry walked to the kitchen on shaky legs. The steps he took seemed to be too long for him. He looked down. His oversized bloody clothes hung down on him like rags and he seemed to drown in them. Nevertheless he could see that he must have shrunken. Or maybe not shrunken, that he has to be younger than his old him. When he died he had been 21 years old, now he couldn't be older than 7, plus or take. Any other would have said maybe that he was 5 but Harry knew that this-Harry must have been more abused than he has been. True, he went without food for a couple of days several times. True, his uncle gave him an occasional slap but he wasn't beaten like the other-Harry, his clothes never were blood soaked like they were now. Harry knew that everything other than happy times awaited him here. Thanks death, I thought I could be happy here; I was supposed to be happy here.

In the kitchen waited Petunias angry grimace for him. But something seemed different. Red and a sick yellow seemed so flow around her underlined by a dark blue. And even under the dark blue was a hint of pink. Instinctively he knew that the red and the sickly yellow couldn't mean anything good, quite the opposite, he thought.

"Do the usual", she told him and walked out of the kitchen. At the doorway she stopped for a second and turned around. "But hurry up, Freak"

Dumbfounded he stood in the middle of the kitchen, not sure what he should do. Then something else new to him occurred, in a split second his brain sorted through all his memories looking for "the usual" breakfast of the Dursleys. Bacon and scrambled eggs with french toast and baked beans came to Harrys mind. Still unsure on his feet he got to work, a little afraid what would happen if he didn't. How strange, he had looked into deaths face several times and defeated Voldemort yet he had this underlying fear of the Dursleys. Maybe it was also the child's body that made him more prone to childish emotions.

The stove was too tall for him, he could barely reach for the panel to turn it on or off. Somehow he managed and soon the kitchen was filled by the smell of food. Harry's stomach was rumbling, telling him that it needed food. Harry knew better than to steal food. He imagined that that wouldn't end well for him.

All Dursleys were assembled on the dining table waiting for food. Harry brought in the food; it took him several runs to bring everything in. Vernon and Dudley ignored him and started to eat like pigs once the plates touched the table. Petunia ate little, always eying Harry with a hateful glance.

Vernon's aura was of a sickly yellow mixed with an equally sickly green. Harry could also figure out some spots of brown and under all of these colours was black. It repelled him, every one of the colours. It screamed danger to him. Dudley's colour was of a pleasant yellow which faded into the same sickly one. There was more brown and strangely some pinks as well. But underlying all of the colours was red. It was an angry red. Looking closely Harry discovered that the red just covered up a dark blue and a wavery light purple. He should keep that in mind.

"Boy, why are you starring at Dudders like that, eh? What are you planning in this freakish mind of yours?", Vernon's voice hit him like a wall. Harry snapped his head up, just in time to see how his colours changed to red. Danger, was all that Harry thought. Anger, and anger meant agony. He didn't know where this thought came from but he knew that it was true.

"Go and clean yourself up, you can't go to school like this!", Vernon barked. Thankful Harry ran out of the room. He only stopped at the kitchen where he slipped some bacon and a piece of toast. He only did this because he knew that Petunia and Vernon were occupied. Upstairs in the bathroom, he saw a ratty towel and more ratty rugs from which he assumed they were for him. How nice of aunt Petunia.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. His brain took every detail in. His hooded eyes, the purplish rings underneath them, his pale complexion to his unruly black hair. Everything was crusted by blood. He quickly stripped is equally bloody clothes and stepped into the shower. As quick as he could he got rid of the grim and blood. It must have been a long time since the other-Harry had taken a shower.

* * *

He sat at a single desk in school, a little further way from the other kids. The teacher taught them about multiplication while in front of him laid an exercise paper with simple summation and subtraction exercises. He had finished it in the first five minutes and was now listening how the teacher tried to educate the other children. He was doing a fairly good job. After half an hour he gave the other kids some exercises then he came over to Harry.

"Are you done Harry? I know they are a little bit harder than what you are used to but let's see how you did", he explained the boy and turned the paper to him so he could have a better look at it. Surprised he looked up at Harry. "You know that it don't appreciate cheating, Harry" He sounded disappointed. His colours which were orange, sunshine yellow and a deep pinkish red which didn't seem angry to Harry tinted into a foggy grey. This grey made him feel bad about himself, like he had disappointed somebody.

"But I didn't cheat, these are too easy for me", Harry said. He noticed that his voice was a little raspy, probably because he hasn't spoken in a while.

"And you are sure that you are not lying to me?", the teacher said with a raised eyebrow. Harry nodded. "Okay, maybe you really have improved. I will give you a test paper"

The test paper turned out to be easy as well. Harrys 21 year old mind solved the math problems designed for second class with ease. He suspected that the other-Harry had been a little dumb. Not that he could blame him, so many hits to head as a young child, especially without magic, could do no good.

The teacher was so astonished that he kept leaving and returning with new test papers. As an Unspeakable Harry had to study arithmancy and also muggle math. The structural problems, the fractions, the geometrical shapes, subtraction, summation, multiplication and divisions posed no problem for him. The teacher observed him. In the end, he was helpless. How could a student who struggled with the easiest math problems solve math problems even fourth graders had problems with? Did he miss something?

In the end, Harry was still separated from the other in class but not anymore because he was too stupid but because he was too advanced for the others. Harry still wasn't sure if that was going to be a problem or not, if it was wise to reveal his intelligence. On the other side, he didn't want to dumb himself down that just wasn't him.

Almost the same happened in all the other subjects even though he wouldn't consider himself very educated in biology, geography, chemistry, physics or religion. But in second grade you probably must stand out as a 21 year old, hopefully. His strengths laid in history, english or literature and philosophy. His passion was learning and studying new languages. He spoke english, obviously, german, french, latin and old greek. Most of these languages were useful for magical texts, some for history texts and some for both. He was still figuring out which language he would learn next. He remembered that at Hogwarts learning didn't mean anything to him. His whole mindset was laid out to survive; he only could ever really remember the useful thing. After the war when the tension and stress left his body and he didn't have to fight anymore he found himself, what seemed to him, without prospects. The day he went into the ministry to register for the Auror program he found himself unable to. He just couldn't fight anymore. So instead he went to the Unspeakables. After three years of studying and hard work he was officially an Unspeakable himself. During the three years he was forced to learn a lot of different subject, some he didn't even heard of. More than he ever had to learn and he discovered that he wasn't that bad as he always thought. He was even good which was a pleasant surprise for him. Without the pressure he seemed to absorb new knowledge effortlessly.

During the school break Harry thought he had to do some research. What year was it? What else has changed in this foreign universe? And also most importantly, he had to hide from Dudley. Dudley had thrown him dirty looks throughout the whole day now and even in his old time Dudley favoured a game called "Harry hunting". The way this-Dudley looked at him and the way his aura was being almost consumed by the sickly yellow scared him. So after the biology lesson and before the 30 minute break Harry went up to the teacher. She was an older woman with kind brown eyes and a warm brown and sunshine yellow colour. Underneath those colours Harry saw a lingering sick green that made him uneasy. But he could tell that this woman was good.

"Mrs. Miller, is it possible for me to maybe go to the library this break and read up on this tree we talked about. I thought your lesson was really interesting", Harry looked up to her and tried to look as cute as possible. Her aura turned light pink and she just nodded.

"Of course Harry, I will take you", she placed her hand on his bony shoulder and he tried not to flinch away.

This is how he ended up curled into a chair with a history book in his hands. He found that looking at the pages for a few seconds was enough for his brain to remember its content. While walking by the librarian's desk he saw a glimpse of the newspaper. 22 August, 1995. THE PAWN-GAME-KILLER HAS… What a silly name, he thought. But 1995? When he died it had been 2001 and he had been 21 years old, meaning should his birthday be the same here, 31 July 1980, he should be 15 which he obviously was not. He was 7 or 6 but given the fact that he was in second grade he must be 7. Especially because it was August, his birthday in July has already passed. That meant his actual birth year must be 1988, 8 years in the future. What else has changed?

After finishing the history book and taking in all dates which were mostly the same as far as he could tell, he picked up another book. He wasn't that familiar with muggle history as much as he liked to portray himself to be. His plan was to go through every book in this library and remembering all. After finishing the first book he knew that it was going to be an easy task. The only thing this would require was time. And as far as he knew he had time. Thanks to death.

After classes were done, Harry sprinted out of the class room trying to avoid Dudley who still stuffed his books into his book bag. Harry put some distance between himself and the school before he slowed down. His body felt weak which was probably because his body was weak. He was malnourished, even more so than the first time around. His head still arched even more now because he tried to take in as much new information as he could. The auras and all the different colours overwhelmed him and made him dizzy. Harry hadn't figured out yet what the different colours meant but just from looks and the feeling he got looking at them, he could say if a colour meant something good or bad. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the different colours. Especially with the kids, the colours seemed to change from one to another in matter of seconds. Today in english he looked at the pretty sunshine yellow and rose pink colours of a little girl. When Dudley broke her pen, which was glittering pink, her pretty colours turned dark blue, grey and red. They were so different and looked so sad to him. They made him feel sad over this little pen too. And he didn't even like pink or glittering stuff. He definitely needed to figure out soon what the colours meant and he also had to get that under control.

He knew the way home by heart. He had to walk by the depressing houses of his neighbourhood where every house looked like the next one. The only difference were the garden, the flowers within them had different colours or looked better or less taken care of. He knew that the garden of the Dursley's was probably one of the most beautiful ones here. But it wasn't because of Petunia or God forbid, Vernon, no, it was because of the other-Harry. The stupid, little naïve and sad other-Harry who had died yesterday. And nobody knew, not even the killer. And he, he had to take other-Harry's place and suffer the same way and he couldn't change it. His magic was gone at its place were some stupid talent. Healing so he couldn't die, empathy so he could see the happiness of his tormentors, an enhanced brain so he would never forget and foresight which he hasn't experienced yet. He felt so lost suddenly and so angry. This wasn't what death has promised, this wasn't bliss and happiness, this was torture.

Behind him he could hear Dudley's yells so he began running again. The Dursley's house wasn't that far away. He kept running even though his legs burned he didn't stop until he was in front of his relative's house. It seemed like he was still faster than his fat cousin even as weak as he was right now. He opened the door and stepped into hell. Before closing the door he saw a glimpse of a wealthy looking man on the other side of the street. He wore sunglasses but Harry was pretty sure that he was looking at the Dursley's house. His aura was pitch black with a dark blue outlining. An even thinner layer of orange closed off his aura. All in all he looked pretty scary so Harry quickly closed the door.

"There you are Freak! What took you so long getting back from school? Thought you could laze around and take your time or what? Not here, not here. Go and tend to the garden!", Petunia yelled at him. She threw some garden tools at him. He caught them before they could do any damage, to him or the wall behind him. Petunia gave him a shove towards the glass door which led to the garden. Her aura got a pinch of black to it but returned to its usual colours quickly.

It was hot outside, the sun was strong. While he pulled weed it shone on him without mercy and he sweat like a pig. Or well, he sweat out as much liquid as he had in him anyways. To him the garden looked already perfect but he didn't dare to say anything. To Petunia if even one grass blade was out of order she would make his life living hell. Well, even more than she did already.

After a few hours she let him in again. In the kitchen were glass of water and some dry toast with cheese waiting for him. He drowned the water and ate the toast. He even got a second glass of water. How generous. Petunia left him there to his own devices. He knew this from his old world. Normally he would go to the playground with the swing but he knew that Dudley would find him there. But there was a library nearby. Maybe he could go there.

Before leaving the house he went to the bathroom really quick to refresh himself. He washed his face with water and tried to tame his hair a bit. He wasn't successful. Then he left the house. He didn't know where Dudley was at the moment so he tried to be quiet. On his way to the library he didn't meet a lot of people. It was simply to hot outside to go out. The weird man with the sunglasses wasn't there anymore either. Good. Harry wasn't entirely sure where the library was but he knew the general direction.

* * *

He walked towards the city centre. More and more stores appeared on the sidewalk. Also more ice cream places which always randomly seemed to appear in summer. On a crossroad he came to a stop. He didn't know which way to take. To his left was an ice cream place and across the street was a boutique which looked like something aunt Petunia would walk into. He turned to the ice cream place which had a small line. In the end of the line was an old lady with what seemed to be her granddaughter.

"Excuse me but do you know the way to the library?", Harry asked and smiled shyly. Through his long lashes he looked up to the lady. She looked him up and down and came to a result; probably that he was a street kid. She grabbed her granddaughter by the hand and looked a bit more repellent. Her colours which were a sky blue, sunshine yellow and grass green turned cool and were masked by an icy purple-blue.

"Down the street", she said and pointed ahead. Then she turned away. It hurt Harry a little but he got the information anyways. He walked the way the old woman had pointed to.

The library was bigger than the one at school. It was nicely cool inside and almost empty. In front of the entrance was the librarian's desk. A man sat behind it. He wore big framed glasses which seemed to climb lower and lower on his strong nose without him noticing. He was reading a book. Harry decided in a split second not to make his presence known and slipped by the occupied man into a hall. Obviously the library wasn't that big. Little Whinging, Surrey was only a small suburb of London after all. The small library seemed to have a good collection nevertheless. Harry went straight for the history books.

* * *

Back home it was almost dark outside and Harry wasn't sure what time it was. He sneaked towards the front door and hoped that it would be open. His uncle's car was in the driveway which could or could not be good. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw a dark silhouette with a dark aura. He froze in his tracks for a minute, then opened the door and went inside.

Harry felt physically sick but couldn't pinpoint the source, he hasn't been beaten yet. Advancing his way slowly through the hallway he tried to sneak into his cupboard. Hopefully the Dursleys have forgotten about him. He wasn't that lucky.

"Where were you boy, eh? Thought you could force poor Petunia to make dinner all by her own? Ha, not with me!", an angry Vernon glared at him. His face was almost as red as his aura was. It looked like he was going to explode. Maybe he should. Vernon slapped him. Harrys head snapped back and pain erupted from his left cheek. A heat almost immediately started to cover that area as well. Vernon grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the kitchen. Petunia stood there with her hateful eyes. Harry sensed that nothing good was going to come for him. Vernon grabbed his hand.

"This is going to be a lesson for you so you will never forget to make dinner for us", he said gleefully. He dragged Harry closer to the stove. Harry's eyes widened, he knew what Vernon was going to do. Vernons aura was a happy orange and an evil black. Then he began to force Harry's hand towards one of the hotplates. Harry tried to fight against it but his weak body betrayed him. His left hand got closer and closer and then pain exploded in his hand. It smelled sickly sweet and like burned flesh. Harry screamed, he didn't even know that he was capable to such a high-pitched scream. Vernon still forced his hand down, Harry struggled, Petunia just stood there and watched with a sick fascination. Harry screamed, pain shoot up his arm, Dudley joined and just watched to. Vernon let go of his hand and Harry held it close to his body. Salty tears streamed down his face and he could just whine and cry. His hand, he didn't dare to look, was of an angry red, the skin started to peel. In some places the flesh was black, on the outer edges of the wound blisters started to form. The smell, the smell was the worse. Harry who was still feeling sick thought he was going to throw up.

Vernon grabbed him by the collar again and threw him into the cupboard. He said something but Harry couldn't hear it. He also couldn't hear the locks click behind him. He was praying for his healing ability to work. His hand felt hot anyways so he didn't know for sure. But maybe the heat in his hand got even hotter. And after what seemed like years his hand went numb. He knew instantly that this injury would take a little bit more time to heal than the mere slap.

Harry lied on the ratty mattress and could still feel the hard floor beneath him. He thought about today, he had learned a lot, about his current situation, the Dursleys and the history books. His thoughts wandered to the mysterious guy he had seen. The sick feeling returned and his head began to hurt more. Then, out of the sudden his body tensed up and every muscle in his body started to cramp up. He couldn't move anymore, he couldn't feel anything anymore. Everything turned black.

 _He saw a blue figure; it looked like a figure of the board game Ludo (Mensch ärgere dich nicht). It stood in the middle of the board, the red, yellow and green figures laid around it. Only the blue one was standing._

When Harry woke up again everything was dark and he heard the faint sound of Vernon's snoring. His hand was still hot.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey!

I have another chapter for you guys. I hope you like it J I think Harry will meet L next chapter or the latest in 2 chapters. If anyone is interested, the title of the story is inspired by the song "Dark matter" by Les Friction.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Harry lied awake for a while after. This must have been his seer ability. But what was that before it? Had it been a seizure? His body had cramped up and he wasn't able to move, it had been scary. If this was to happen every time he had a vision he could do without. It seemed more like a disability than a help. Especially because he didn't know what the vision meant. A standing blue figure surrounded by the other figures which were fallen over. What was that supposed to mean? Maybe the figures stood for something or rather someone but he couldn't tell for whom. This was more complicated than it should be. And his empathy, it could be useful if only he knew how to read the colour. The thing was, he couldn't. Some colours were self-evident some others not that much. The red stood for anger, this one was obvious. The sunshine yellow indicated happiness, orange could maybe be amusement? Grey was disappointment, dark blue felt sad and black was evil. But what was this sickly yellow and green? They weren't good but neither necessarily bad. Also this light blue was a lot different than the dark blue, did the single shades also meant different emotions? This was very confusing. It also fascinated him that there were multiple emotions around a person, not just a single one. Often the colours would fade into each other. There was always an underlying colour maybe that could be a hidden emotion or a part of the person's personality?

The clothes which he wore felt itchy on his skin. His head hurt, the healing ability didn't seem to heal this part. Maybe to no interfere with the other ability? It was annoying, it was harder to concentrate. His hand pulsed and was still heated up. He didn't dare to move it. The mattress was very thin underneath him; he could feel the cold floor. It didn't bother him, the contrary in fact. It cooled his hot skin. What should he do? His first day in this alternate universe didn't really go well. He was lost. He didn't really see the sense in continue living, especially with the Dursleys in his life. They were even more abusive towards him than in his own world. But didn't Death say that he would have another change, that there would be happiness? Maybe he had to be patient and everything would sort out for him. It was so hard though. All the pain. And being with himself most of the time, having time to really think, it didn't do him any good. He had to think a lot about the time after the war. The smell of smoke and burned flesh imprinted in his brain. When he smelled his on hand burn he had to think about the destroyed Hogwarts and about his dead friends, his dead family. Could he have the same here?

His eyes were drawn to the painting on the wall. The three stick figures looked back at him. What happened to his parents in this world? Did they maybe really die because of a gas lack or in a car accident? He should ask Petunia about it. Or maybe not, he would get beaten because of it again.

Somehow he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he heard was banging on his door. Unlike yesterday he was immediately wide awake. The first thing he did was holding his hand close to his face and inspecting it. It was still unnaturally red but other than that he didn't feel any pain. The cupboard door unlocked and Harry crawled out. He was blinded by the light again but didn't make the same mistake as yesterday. Quickly he made his way to the kitchen before Dudley could do anything to him.

Wary he looked at the stove; the memories of yesterday were still fresh in his mind. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid of getting closer to it. He still smelled the burned flesh. He wanted to vomit. But what were his other options? Getting a beating just to be forced to make breakfast anyways? Harry let out a deep sight and started cooking.

* * *

The only thing he ate today was a dry piece of toast he stole this morning. During lesson he tried to pay attention but everything was so easy to him. Sometimes he would zone out and then he started to feel dizzy and weak. He needed to get some food into him, maybe even a decent meal. It was only logical, everything required energy to work, why should his healing ability work if it had nothing to fuel from? He was pretty sure that the fact that he could walk around was only thanks to his ability.

He felt so overwhelmed, there were so many emotions around him, always changing and not staying the same. Some were pretty, some were not but all influenced him. He should really try to find a way to stop that. He didn't want to be influenced by the emotions of others. It took a lot out of him not to flinch away from some of them. That he was the only one who could see them made it only worse.

Before the break Mrs. Miller held him back before he could go to the library. She looked at him serious and her colours matched that. A greyish purple mingled with her otherwise earthy tones. The sickly green underneath all was still there. He really wondered what it stood for.

"Harry dear, could you please stay back?", she asked. Harry obeyed and walked up to her. What did she want? "We, your teachers, have recognized a drastic change in you. You seemed to have improved?", the last part she formulated as a question. Harry had no idea how the other-Harry had been in school. Well, he had been bad, but Harry didn't know why. Was it because of the Dursleys or had he been just disabled? Harry just knew that he had to be careful what he answered and needed to be as vague as possible.

"You are right Mrs. Miller. I just recently realized that I wasn't preforming to my fullest potential. I really wanted to improve", that sounded vague enough for Harry. Hopefully she would believe him. Mrs. Miller nodded and reached for her leather bag. After searching for a minute or two she got something out of her bag.

"In that case…", she said and handed him a letter. A letter addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. Shit. "This is a letter for your Aunt and Uncle; I would like them to come in so we could chat about your possibilities. You are a very gifted young man and maybe we can provide you with some advancement work", she said, not noticing how pale Harry got all of a sudden. His relatives are not going to be happy, not happy at all. Harry snatched the letter out of her hand and nodded. He felt sick and lost all motivation to go to the library.

* * *

On his way back home Harry thought about the letter which laid heavy in his book bag. Should he give it to his aunt or should he not? They would beat him for it, for sure. They would forbid him from doing better than Dudley. But on the other side, now he had the school on his side, they wanted to help him get better. But his uncle would come up with an excuse how Harry had cheated even though it was not true. In his uncle's mind nobody could be better than his son, especially not a freak like him. But could he really keep this letter hidden? If his teacher doesn't get an answer she will call and that would cause more of a problem than just this lousy letter. Why didn't he just hold back?

"There he is, get him!", yelled Dudley behind him. Shit. His fat cousin and his hideous friends have found him. Harry started running as fast as he could away from his cousin's gang. His legs started burning but the shouts behind him kept him motivated to run. Soon he saw the Dursley's front door. He wondered how long he could keep outrunning them. He hoped a while longer.

He ran to the door and opened it. He stepped inside and closed it more quietly hoping that Petunia hadn't heard him. But she was already waiting for him with a long list of chores for him to do. Harry quickly threw his bag inside his cupboard and joined his aunt in the kitchen. She handed him the list. Garden work, sweeping, dusting and grocery shopping. Not that bad. Then she turned away and returned to ignoring his existence.

Harry got a sweep and started sweeping. While doing the repetitive work he thought that he got used to being the Dursleys slave again really fast. Harry couldn't bring himself so feel something at this thought even though he knew that maybe he should. Anger or depression was satisfying as an emotion in a situation like this. But he just felt numb.

After Harry was almost done Dudley arrived. When he saw that Harry was sweeping, he stopped taking of his shoes and left his laces half open and started to walk into the living room with his shoes on. Dirt and sand, maybe from the playground, made its way to the clean floor. Harry just sighted. Petunia was all over her precious baby.

"Mommy the freak has a letter from school!", Dudley said while grinning at Harry with mal intent. What did Dudley think this letter was? Maybe something to tell his parents how bad Harry was doing in school? If only he knew.

"Is that true?", Petunia said while turning to face Harry " We Let Vernon handle it. Tell Daddy later, okay?", she said to her fat son. He nodded with the smug grin still on his face.

* * *

After Harry was done with his chores he didn't made the same mistake as yesterday. He started doing dinner right away. Normally it would take him some time thinking of a recipe but his enhanced brain provided one for him. So he started cooking. His uncle would come home soon and he feared that moment. What would he do to him if he found out about the letter? Not if, when.

As the vegetables were simmering over the stove and a roast was in the oven there was a knock at the door. Petunia opened the door. Before she did so, she pasted on a smile. Her colours turned pinkish but somehow it didn't seem real. The pink was like a glove which laid itself above the other colours and muted them down. It was like she was forcing herself to feel it.

Opening the door, Vernon stepped in. He was red faced and enormous. He gave his wife a kiss. She returned it. Dudley came running to him. Harry could see how Dudleys somehow peaceful colours flashed black and then were normal again.

"Daddy Daddy! The Freak got a letter from school!", Dudley yelled. Harry had wished that Dudley would have forgotten that piece of information somewhere in his pig-brain. He wasn't so lucky. In this moment, Harry really wanted to smack Dudley.

"Freak, give me the letter. Now", Vernons voice turned icy and his colours were purplish-grey. His pig-eyes were fixated on Harry. Harry left the kitchen to get it from his school bag. With shaky hands he gave it to Vernon. Vernon had a shark-like smile on his face when he opened the letter. He probably expected something entirely different. That will be a surprise.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I am writing concerning your nephew Harry. Recent development has shown that he has improved drastically in all subjects. For example was he able to solve math problems intended for middle school students. Thus I want to arrange a meeting with…", Vernon's voice faded in the end. His small eyes focused on Harry. His face grew even redder and his aura turned black. Harry knew that he would get a beating for sure. "Is that true freak? You must have cheated somehow! You will get a beating you won't forget", Vernon promised. Harry thought it was worth it only to see the astonished looked on Dudley's face. He looked like a frog with the widening eyes and the opened mouth. He looked dumb.

* * *

Now it was October. Vernon held true to his promise and it took Harrys healing abilities three days to heal everything. Vernon and Petunia went to the meeting and tried to convince the teachers that Harry must have cheated. Surely a such unintelligent boy couldn't have solve all the problems. He must have cheated, there was no other explanation! It didn't work because the teacher who had tested Harry's math skills was there as well and he said that he had kept a close eye on Harry. Thus, Harry was now still present in the lessons but got more advanced extra work to do.

It was a chilly Saturday morning when Harry awoke. Last night he had a vision again. It was the same one he had experienced the past few months. It was always the blue play figure surrounded by the other figures. His body was still sore from the seizure. He was just glad that it hasn't happened in public yet. Somehow his body knew what was going to happen and warned him with a bout of nausea. His last beating was two days ago when Vernon had a bad day at work. What made it all worse was that the beatings came without a pattern, without a reason at all. The arbitrariness was driving him mad. But usually he could tell by Vernon's colours if it was going to be a good or bad night. They changed before he stared hitting him.

It was quiet when Harry made breakfast. It was the most quiet it ever was except for when it was night. Harry looked out of the kitchen window. It was still grey outside. He saw something flickering, a shadow. There was somebody standing and looking in. His aura was dark. Harry had to look away when he heard the fat in the pan splash. He put the bacon in. If only he could have some. Or some toast. He hasn't eaten in three days. The Dursleys really had a bad influence on him. He had just accepted how they treated him, he didn't even fight it. Thinking about fighting, the only thing he knew the best were spells. But he didn't have his magic anymore. It was a sore point with him, true he had other abilities instead now but nothing could really replace his beloved magic. In hard times it kept him warm at night, it spent comfort. But now it couldn't anymore. He was truly alone. He felt more numb.

"Freak, hurry up! We are going out today", said Vernon to him without looking. He was focused on the bacon in the pan. Harry could actually see the spit in his mouth gathering, disgusting. "Get yourself a piece of toast", Vernon commanded. Harry was surprised, since when did Vernon give him food, especially voluntarily? Normally it was Petunia giving him food. But he wasn't the one to question it.

After he served the Dursleys Harry ate his piece of toast and drank water. He even sneaked a chocolate bar which he quickly devoured before anybody could see. It was the most delicious thing he had in a long while. Then he went to clean the dishes and put them away. Petunia came into the kitchen.

"Since Mrs. Figg can't take you in today we have to take you with us. I don't want to leave you alone in the house, Freak", Petunia said to him. Why they just didn't lock him into the cupboard he didn't understand but Harry was glad to get out. The only time he was allowed to get out was going to school and the occasional trips to the public library. The only reason he was allowed to go was because the school encouraged him to learn more in his free time and Petunia wanted to be seen in a positive light, so she let him go. Harry was just glad that he could read more. It had become an escape for him. Recently he started reading fictional books as well and he found that he grew to like them. They had a spark of magic in them, at least for Harry.

Harry had a ratty old coat from Dudley that once was of a nice royal blue but had dulled to a more greyish colour. He wore the only shoes he owned; old trainers from Dudley as well that almost were his size. The Dursley family were dressed in nice coats; Petunia wore her good red cashmere scarf and Vernon wore a flat cap. They were ready to go.

The air outside was crispy cold; Harry thought that it smelled nice, a little bit like snow. At the car, Vernon went to the driver's seat; Petunia occupied the other seat in the front. That meant that Harry had to sit in the back with Dudley. It was going to be pure agony. In the car, Harry had to sit on a newspaper so he wouldn't "dirty the nice leather seats". He didn't mind. He was wondering although, where were they going to go? He still didn't know.

They drove already for thirty minutes when Dudley got bored and started to pinch his sides. Harry held in a yelp of surprise knowing it would only cause more trouble. Because he was not reacting Dudley felt more motivated to get a reaction out of him. The pinches grew more powerful and finally Dudley started kicking him. The first kick was such a surprise that Harry let out a sound.

"Can't you be still, Freak? You are always trouble, I don't know why we are keeping up with you!", Vernon started to runt. Harry started to recognize the area, they were in London. Suddenly the car stopped. "Get out Freak! Remember this street, we are going to pick you up again in five hours!", Vernon yelled at him. Spit flew on Harry's face. He was shocked; they are just going to abandon him here on the streets of London?

"Get out!", Petunia squeaked as well now. Harry opened the car door, Dudley gave him a push from behind and Harry felt onto the street. The car door closed behind him and the car drove off. Harry was flabbergasted. Even he was surprised what the Dudleys were capable to. He stumbled on his feet and started to get off the street. A car drove by him and honked. Harry stumbled to the sidewalk and sat down on a bench.

What to do now? First Harry thought that it wasn't good that he had to find somewhere save to wait out the five hours but then he realized that it was the best thing that could ever happen to him. Five hours to spend how he liked. Harry grinned. He had finally the chance to check if the Leaky Caldron and the Diagon alley still existed. He could be on the lookout for familiar faces. He knew what death has said that magic doesn't exist in this universe but Harry could help but to have hope. Maybe Sirius was still alive and Remus as well?

Harry was vaguely familiar with the area around him. He was fairly sure that he could find his way to the Leaky Caldron from here so he started walking. People who passed him looked at him either weirdly or concerned. Maybe they thought that he was a street kid? He couldn't judge them; he probably looked like a street kid. It was really interesting to see all the different colours. Most of them were hazed by a hasty green; some were a light curious yellow but most were plain grey. Few people were angry-red or a lovely-pink, some were a sad-dark blue.

He was almost there, excitement filled him. He knew that he was going to be disappointed but he couldn't just not be excited. A man in front of him dropped something. It was a book. What was strange was that the book itself had a colour. It was dark blue. Harry went to pick it up for the man. When he touched the book and thus also the dark blue colour, he froze. _Suddenly he wasn't in London anymore, he didn't know where he was but he saw how the man wrote into the book. They were in a living room, the man sat at the dining table with a glass red wine next to him. He wrote with an ink pen. Harry couldn't make out what he was writing but he just knew. The book was telling him. It was a story of deep sorrow and regret. The book meant a lot to the man._

"Kid, are you alright?", a voice snapped Harry out of this vision. Harry blinked and starred at the book. Now he could see at, there was a dark blue thread from the book to the man in front of him. He was old and had salt and pepper hair. He had old blue eyes and laugh wrinkles around them. Harry has never seen the connection of objects to people. He has never spent too much attention to the colour of an object, not that he has seen the colour of an object before.

Harry gave the book back and ran passed the man. He was scared. What has just happened there? Has his empathy and seer talent fused and created something new? Death hadn't told him about this. This was entirely new. From now on he had to be careful touching things.

Unknowingly Harry had run to the location the Leaky Caldron had been. It wasn't there. Harry just wanted to cry, tears gathered in his eyes. Why, why always him? Suddenly he felt more alone than ever and the weight of the world came down onto his shoulders and it was harder for him to breath. He felt dizzy and the world was spinning around him. Then, his mind focused on a certain man standing not too far away from him.

The man had shoulder length dark hair and wore an expensive looking suit. His storm grey eyes were focused on something Harry couldn't see. All he could do was stumble towards that man. A man he loved, his only family.

"Sirius?", Harry asked when he was close enough. The man turned around and Harry's eyes hungrily tried to imprint every one of his features into his brain. The man looked down to him.

"Do I know you?", he asked. His voice was Sirius' voice, he looked like Sirius and even smiled like him but Harry could tell that this person in front of him was not the Sirius he knew. It only made sense, since he didn't go to Hogwarts and his dad also didn't go, they never meet. How should they have? This Sirius in front of him was still kind, still probably different than his family but still wasn't the same Sirius Harry knew.

"Nothing", Harry muttered and passed his most beloved person in the world. His head started spinning again. He felt so overwhelmed. His stomach rumbled. Sirius just looked at him and wondered how this street kid knew his name. That was all.

* * *

Harry wandered aimlessly through the city. He felt physically sick but couldn't help it. He knew the signs, he was about to have a vision. That was just his luck. First he had to meet reality, the magical community doesn't exist anymore and now he is going to make a fool out of himself in public. He should find a quiet place to hide so he won't disturb anyone. It also just meant more trouble with the Dursleys if they had to pick him up from the hospital. They would probably also recognize the signs of abuse there. While he hasn't got a lot of scars he was severely underweight that he knew.

It happened in the worse possible moment ever. He was on a crosswalk and already halfway over the street. Some cars were waiting. A woman was walking towards him, also crossing the street. Then the nausea maximized as did the headache he didn't know he had before. It pulled him right off his feet. He felt down, he hit the ground and he felt his body seizing up, then everything was black.

 _Harry stood in front of the Dursley-house, next to him was a man he didn't recognize. The man was patiently looking at the house unmoving. It was dark, almost nighttime. Harry couldn't make out a lot of detail. The man looked wealthy with his suit and the way his hair was styled. His hand was closed around something; he raised it and opened it. A blue figure fell to the ground._

The dark became light again and Harry found himself lying on his back. Somebody held his head. He tried to look and saw that there were people around him. They were shouting at each other. Harry's head hurt and the light was blinding him. He felt weak and sweaty. He felt hot and cold at the same time. In the distance he thought he could hear sirens. In a split second Harry decided what he had to do. He didn't want to go to the hospital, especially because in the end, they wouldn't be able to figure out what was wrong with him. He knew why he had the seizures that must be enough. He really didn't want the attention. It was stupid, he knew, but he just wanted to escape. This whole situation just promised trouble. What he didn't think of was that this could have been his chance of escaping the Dursleys. He could just concentrate on the now. Harry tensed up and got his body ready. When he thought that the shouting was the loudest and the people the most occupied he jumped up and sprinted away. His body was burning; his healing helped him and already repaired the damages caused by the incident. He heard people shouting after him maybe even footsteps but Harry didn't dare to look back. The exercise from Harry hunting helped him to just run.

Harry kept running until he was back were the Dursleys had left him. He didn't really know how much time he had to pass but he didn't want to get lost or even found by the people who wanted to help him. Hopefully the Dursleys won't forget him.

Vernon pulled up into the driveway. Harry held his side, Dudley had pinched him again. He got out of the car and took the newspaper with him. While closing the car door he turned around. On the other side of the street he saw the silhouette again. Harry froze, was this the man from his vision? It had to be, he stood exactly where he had stood in his vision. He could hardly distinguish the aura from the dark background. Harry turned away and quickly followed the Dursleys back into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey,

I was wondering if you liked the story? I would be happy about some feedback :)

Enjoy!

Chapter 4

It was the second January 1996. It had snowed outside and now everything was covered by a light layer of white. The normally boring neighbourhood looked enchanted. Christmas has passed without any abnormal incidents, at least for the Dursley family. Harry was locked in the cupboard for at least two or three days now. There was no particular reason for it except maybe that Vernon wanted his peace on his days off. On new years the family had gone to bed at ten because anything other would have been unnecessary. New year's day was like any other day too.

It was the late afternoon and Petunia, Vernon and Dudley were in the living room. Even though it wasn't that late yet Vernon already had a glass of whiskey in his hand. Petunia was drinking some black tea which was a little bit too strong for her taste. Well, that's the risk you had to take when locking the freak in for too long, you have to do things on you own. Dudley watched a program on the TV. It was bothersome loud but nobody was saying anything. Vernon was reading the newspaper; Petunia was solving a Sudoku although it looked like it wouldn't work out in the end. From an outsider's view it looked like a room in a doll's house. The Dursleys lived without being alive.

When it rang at the door Dudley got up and sprinted to the door. His aunt Magre wanted to send a package with presents for Christmas but it hasn't arrived yet. It had been an unpleasant surprise for him to wake up on the 25th and not having as many presents as the year before. His parents had to calm him down the whole morning and feed him some extra Christmas cookies. The Freak had baked them and they were delicious. And then the freak had burned the roast a little. Well, if he was honest it wasn't really burned, it just had a little browner crust than intended and it still tasted as good as always. Still, his dad had been furious. He had beat Harry viciously. Since they discovered that the freak would be fully healed the next day, Vernon didn't hold back anymore. The day after he had thought the freak had died some when in august, everything had changed. Even he himself got scared of his Dad that day. When his Dad had been done with the freak, his form was already lifeless when he was thrown back into the cupboard. That night he had had a nightmare. But when the freak had gotten up the next day and the only evidence of that night had been the bloody clothes, Dudley felt relieved. He had always enjoyed beating up the freak but he felt sick upon the thought that his Dad could be a murderer.

Dudley opened the door but instead of seeing the desired postman an entirely different kind of person stood in front of him. He wore an expensive looking grey suit with a blue tie. The hair was dark blond and gelled back. His face looked emotionless even though his pale lips were raised into a smile. His watery blue eyes darted around until they rested on Dudley. Dudley felt intimidated by the man and instinctively took a step back.

"Are your parents home, young man?", the man asked. His voice was slick and overly friendly. Dudley threw the door close, turned around and ran back into the living room.

"Mom, Dad, there is a stranger at the door!", he said and returned to his TV program. He didn't want to miss even one more minute. Petunia and Vernon exchanged a quick glance before Vernon got up and walked to the door. He tried to make himself taller than he actually was. He petted his mustache smooth before he opened the door.

"Yes, you want?", Vernon asked and looked the man in front of him up and down. The man obviously was rich. Vernon noticed a gold Rolex on the man's left arm. Instantly Vernon became friendlier. Even his eyes lit up.

"Excuse me for the interruption but my car broke down. Could I use your phone to call the breakdown recovery service?", asked the stranger. His voice was overly friendly again and he showed his teeth while smiling. Vernon disliked the man but he seemed to be rich. Maybe he could get something out of him.

"Of course! Come on in", he said and stepped aside to make room for the tall slim man., he had to suck in his belly a little. The stranger walked in with long strides. His eyes wandered over the pictures on the wall and he had a hard time hiding the sneer on his face. The family disgusted him. On every one of the photos on the wall was the little fat rude boy. Sometimes his parents stood beside him and sometimes not.

"The phone is here", Vernon said. He had walked ahead and pointed now to an old looking telephone on a side table. Then he returned to the living room but kept an eye on the stranger.

"Thank you", the stranger said and was almost reluctant to grab it. It had what appeared to be fat smears all over it. He sighed and made his phone call.

* * *

"Who is this, why is he here?"; Petunia hissed at Vernon. Vernon tried to calm her down.

"He just wants to use the phone, his car broke down. And look at him, he is rich. Maybe we can get something out of this!", Vernon told his wife and his tongue darted out and licked over his fat dry lips. His greed clouded his common sense. Why would an obviously rich man have to use a home telephone? Surely he was well off enough to have a mobile phone?

"Are you sure? He looks like a business man and they are sharks. I don't know if there is going to be some kind of reward for us", Petunia said. She still doubted the idea of her husband. Her glance wandered to her son. She took in his overly large figure. She knew that he was overweight but it was so hard to say no to him. Maybe with a little bit of extra money she could by him something to make him happy? Maybe he wouldn't need to eat that much then. "We'll see", she simply added. Honestly, she didn't like to have the stranger in her home.

Vernon nodded; he was already in his own reality where the stranger gave him the Rolex watch and some money. All just for the phone call, the stranger must have been very generous.

* * *

The stranger with the cold blue eyes looked up determined. He had made his phone call but as expected nobody had picked up. He wiped his hand on the little white tablecloth after he had let go of the phone. The corners of his mouth turned down. He looked at Vernon. Vernon had now his huge back turned to him. He truly did choose the right family tonight.

He walked over and tried to make his facial expression as neutral as possible. He already had some practice in this. The time before was always his favourite time. They didn't know yet what awaited them.

"I am sorry, nobody has picked up the phone", he let the sentence hang in the air and didn't finish it. He waited for somebody to say something.

"No problem at all! You could try later again. Would you like to join for a tea maybe?", Vernon asked. He had hid the whiskey just moments before. He would certainly not share his best liquor. Rich or not.

"That is very generous of you, thank you. My name is Steven Spieler by the way, nice to meet you", he said and extended his hand for a handshake. Vernon grabbed the hand in his own fat hand. Steven wanted to pull back but forced the instinct down. The hand was sticky.

"Vernon Dursley", he said delighted. He heard about the Spielers before he thought. Didn't they own a toy fabric? Then he let go of the hand. The stranger turned to Petunia.

"Petunia Dursley. And that over there is our lovely son, Dudley", she introduced herself and her whale of a son. Steven flashed her a smile meant to seduce her. Then he turned to Vernon.

"You must be lucky to have such a beautiful wife as Petunia", he said. Vernon sat up a little straighter and grinned. Damn right he thought.

"Yes, that is true", he answered. Petunia blushed, how unusual for her. Steven tried not to laugh, what a joke. Petunia was scrawny, had a long neck and teeth like a horse. All and all not the picture of beauty, at least in his eyes.

"I will go and make some more tea", she said and stood up. When she walked passed their guest she felt the eyes of a predator on her. A shiver run down her back.

* * *

Harry felt weak and he was awfully thirsty. He didn't know how long he had been locked inside the cupboard this time. It must have been a couple of days at least. It was easy to lose a sense of time in the darkness. He had drifted in and out of sleep for a while now. Vernon had beaten him up pretty badly before throwing him inside of here. Harry didn't know why, maybe it was because of a bad day at work? The why tortured him. Since Harry grew weaker and weaker in the course of the last couple of weeks due to the lack of food and water, his body stood on fire for the longest time it had ever been. His healing ability took longer and longer to heal him. After each time he was fully healed, he didn't feel as good anymore but rather more weak. He got dizzy more often. Now, that he was deprived of all nutrition and even water now, he honestly didn't know how long he was able to make it. He hoped that Vernon would let him out soon. He held in his pee but he didn't know how much longer he could take it.

When it had rang at the door Harry looked up. It was the first time that something exciting was happening, if you didn't count the occasional fit of Dudley. He crawled to the door and tried to peek out of the vents. He heard voices and saw Dudley ran past him. Then Vernon got up and walked to the door as well. Voices again and then Vernon walked past him again. His aura was a sickly yellow and a green he had never seen before. If he had to describe the feeling with one word, it would have to be greed.

Behind Vernon's aura another aura followed. This one was dark and scary and angry red and sadly blue in the core. It had a wavery yellow and an amused orange. The scary black was linked to an excided yellow. It was a colourful mess and something Harry had never seen before. But that was not true, technically. He had seen the black before, the evil black.

Harry flinched back and tried to hold any sound in. This can't be good and it couldn't have a good ending, at least not for all.

* * *

Frankly, the tea tasted stale and Steven grew annoyed to the continuous chattering of the couple in front of him. The TV of the baby whale was too loud and he was at the brick of getting a headache. He wanted it to end now. He had already pretended to have called the breakdown service again ten minutes ago. This time he had told the fat fuck that they would come in two hours. They wouldn't of course he knew but they didn't. They had invited him to stay longer and he had accepted. He could feel Vernon starring on his watch. It was a fake but that he didn't know either. They were so easy to read.

"Let's play a game?", Steven said and smiled. Petunia threw a quick glance to her son. Dudley still starred at the TV and appeared to be braindead.

"That is a very good idea"; Petunia said and smiled as well. After a while in his presence she found him to be rather attractive. He was nothing like Vernon and somehow that made it all more appealing. She looked to her husband. He looked at Dudley.

"Son, would you maybe want to join? You could even pick out the game", Vernon said. Dudley didn't react. Steven just grabbed the remote control and turned the TV off. Dudley blinked and blinked again. Then he jumped up.

"HEY! You can't just do that!", he yelled and found himself facing Steven. Dudley seemed to get a few inches smaller and backed up intimidated. This man made him feel scary and afraid.

"Dudley, why don't you pick out a game, hm?", Steven asked him and smiled what he believed to be a reassuring smile. Dudley looked to his Dad. He nodded so Dudley went to pick out ludo (Menschärgeredichnicht). He liked the game, it was simple and easy. You didn't need to think a lot and he liked to see his Dad getting angry. It was funny.

What the Dursley family missed was the shark like grin which appeared on Steven's face for some seconds. What only Harry saw was how his aura got so dark all of the sudden that it almost appeared to be black.

"Got it", Dudley said and brought it to the table. Petunia began to set everything up.

"Chose your colours", Petunia said. Steven's hand darted out and grabbed the blue figure before anyone else could take it. Dudley got angry. That was his colour! None of the other adults thought much of it. Petunia took red, Vernon yellow and Dudley green, the next best thing to the blue one. This was going to be exciting, at least for Steven Spieler. He had waited for it longer than you thought.

* * *

Harry didn't know what was going on in the living room. All he could see from the vents was a small part of the stranger's face and thus also his aura. He could only stare at the dark colour cycling through him. It was hypnotizing and frankly frightening. Sometimes Harry could hear the angry cries from Dudley which could only be overthrown by the yells from Vernon. Petunia was silent all of the times. Sometimes a smirk would appear on the stranger's face. Harry got more and more curious what was happening in the living room.

He was tired and wanted to lay down but he didn't.

* * *

Steven Spieler threw his hands up in victory.

"I won!", he declared and smiled happily. Just like he had planned. Dudley flipped over the board game and stamped down. He looked like a spoiled brat which he was. Then he stormed out and ran up to his room. He banged his door shut, it was still audible in the living room. Petunia flinched.

"I am sorry for my son but he isn't used to losing. He is such a smart boy, always wins", Petunia said, smiled apologetic and shrugged her shoulders. Vernon nodded in agreement. Steven had to hold in a burst of laughter. That boy was as dumb as a piece of furniture.

"Yes absolutely", he said instead. This was getting fun! What a pity that the boy left.

"Already so late?", Petunia said while looking at her watch. "The service still hasn't arrived yet", she stated the obvious.

"Yes, if it wouldn't be too much, could I maybe stay here over night? It wouldn't have to be for free", Steven asked, pretending to be embarrassed. Vernon grinned, this was his change.

"No trouble at all. In fact, we have a free guest room which you could use", Vernon said and already imagining in his mind stacks of money. These people were too easy to manipulate, Steven thought. But well, this was to his advantage.

"Thank you very much. I would like that", Steven said and the corners of his lips turned up.

* * *

Harry must have fallen asleep because when he woke up it was already night time. He knew because it was totally dark. He didn't know why he woke up. Then he heard a dragging sound. And maybe a muffled scream? A dragging sound. Silence. But there, that must have been Petunia, she let out a high pitched scream. Silence. Then a gargling sound. Silence. More dragging. Now, somebody was dragging something down the stairs. He could hear it clearly above him. Thum, thum thum it was coming down the stairs. The light was turned on. Harry went to the vents again and peered out.

A tall figure was dragging Dudley to the living room. Only, Dudley's eyes were wide open and his throat was slashed. There was still blood pouring out of it. It dropped down onto the carped and left a bloody trace. His pyjamas were already soaked with blood. It was fell backwards. The noise of his fall wasn't loud but still audible. Harry froze and the dragging sound stopped. He knew if he were to make another sound he was going to die. He didn't even dare to breathe. He could hear the beating of his heart in his ears. After a few minutes of tension the dragging sound continued. Harry let out the breath he held.

Through the vent Harry saw how Petunia and finally Vernon were dragged to the living room. All of them had their throat slit and he even imagined that Vernon was still alive. His eyes darted around and a limb jerked. Most importantly, he still had an aura. It was of a scared purple. To put it simply, it was horrifying and brought back all bad memories of the war. This came pretty close to be one of the worse.

Harry didn't know what to think. On the one hand, the Dursleys had abused him and beaten him and starved him. He loathed them and was glad that the horror was over. Maybe he should thank the murderer? On the other hand, this was his family, his last standing connection to his parents. They were gone now and he couldn't change it nor save them. This pain was familiar to him and he muted it out, he tried to mute every feeling out until only numbness was left. Was this the plan Death had for him?

Harry peeked through the vents again after finding some courage. He saw the stranger again. Now he could make out more of him. He had blue eyes and dirty blond hair which was gelled back. He was tall and moved around like a predator. He had a sharp nose and a strong jaw line; he looked normal, even handsome. His grey suit was full of blood as were his hands. He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt. His arms were riddled with scars. They didn't look like to be caused by himself but rather by an outside force. They all looked old. Harry noticed dark circles under his eyes and a smear of grim behind his left ear.

His whole appearance didn't fit together. He had an expensive suit and an expensive watch but also scars and smears of dirt. Harry tried to imagine him without the expansive stuff and all that was left was a worker, a lost child.

Harry heard some more noises in the living room and a low chuckle. Then there were foot steps towards him. He had to hold his breath. The man stopped in front of the cupboard. Harry's heart started beating faster and faster until Harry thought it would explode. Lights flashed in front of his eyes and then it was over and the man continued walking. Harry looked after him. Weird, the shoes didn't fit together; one was a darker brown than the other. The shoe size was a 43 or maybe a 44, he couldn't tell. He could see that the one hand of the stranger was closed around something. Then the lights were turned off and the front door closed. Harry was alone.

* * *

It was disturbing to know that you were alone with three dead bodies in the same house. It was awfully quiet; all Harry could hear was his own breath. It was shaky. He lied on the thin mattress and felt the fire roaming through his body. He felt how he got weaker and weaker. Finally the fire stopped but he knew that his injuries weren't healed yet. His ribs were only have mended together and it started hurting to breathe again. Only three of the five fingers of his left hand were fully healed and he was pretty sure that his body had still had some bruises on them. Many had been deep. He could just lay there, unmoving. It was so dark.

He didn't know when it started to smell like death and rotting flesh. He only knew it was at about the same time he could hold in his pee anymore. He just let it go. He was going to die in here anyways. He could hear the buzzing of flies. He hoped that they woulnd't come into his cupboard. His breaths were short and shallow. This was for two reasons, first he couldn't stand the smell anymore, he would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach so he just dry heaved and secondly, his ribs didn't allow it.

After some time he thought he could hear the soft hoot of Hedwig. It was a reassuring sound. He just listened to it and felt somewhat better. Then after some more time he could actually see her. Her feathers looked as soft as ever. He tried to say something or reach out for her but he was too weak. He just couldn't. He fell asleep.

A loud scream woke him up. Groggily he opened his eyes. It was like they were glued together. Hedwig wasn't there anymore. Somebody ran passed the cupboard and out through the door. He didn't know if he had imagined it or if it had been real. The front door felt shut. Then he fell unconscious again.

* * *

The next time he woke up he couldn't even lift his eyelids. Outside of the cupboard was a lot of noise. People walked passed him a lot and he heard voices, but couldn't make out any words. He could also hear the faint sound of sirens. Police? Had somebody found the bodies? Maybe the scream he had heard earlier really did happen. Nobody had looked into the cupboard yet. He hasn't got much time left; breathing grew more and more difficult. He had to draw attention to him. They had to save him! Somebody had to save him.

First, Harry forced his eyes to fully open then he tried to wiggle his legs. It took a lot of effort but his legs moved. Good. Next, he tried to kick the door. Somebody was bound to notice that.

"Help", he tried to say. I it was just a whisper at first but soon he forced his voice to be louder. "HELP", he screamed and kicked the door harder. His strength is going to leave him soon he could feel it. But he could also hear the movement first stop behind the door. Then it started again a lot faster and the voices grew louder and louder. Harry stopped all of his movement, he was totally exhausted. It took everything out of him not to pass out. At least his task was done, they had found him.

The door was forced open. Light felt into the little cupboard. It blended Harry, he closed his eyes. The police officers and forensic team on the other hand had a perfect few. They were shocked. Nobody had expected to find what they found.

Inside this little space laid a boy. He was small and dirty and couldn't be older than five or six. His hair was messy and black. He was pale, his lips were colourless. The boy was rolled up on a dirty mattress and it stank like urine. His clothes were rags. Then he moved his head towards them and opened his eyes. The astonishing green eyes looked empty and haunted.

"Help me", he whispered before closing his eyes again.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey,

Thanks for the reviews! What do you think about the murder case? Is there anything you like to see happen in this story?

I won't be able to post next week on monday. But don't worry, I'll post it later that week but I can't say what day yet.

Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 5

The Dursleys were dead. Their throats were cut open and their blood was all over the place. It was dried on the walls and floor. The normal ruby red colour has faded into a rusty red. Their eyes were wide open and looked into the emptiness around them without seeing anything. On the first glance one could see that the bodies must have been laying here for a while at least. Flies buzzed and the air was filled with a sickening sweetness and the smell of rotten flesh. The post-mortem rigidity was already beginning to lessen and the stiff muscles began to relax.

The living room was painted in red. It looked like the dead bodies got up themselves to play a last game together. On the table between them laid a board game. Blood smears were on it. In the middle of it was one single figure, a blue pawn. How curious this scene presented itself.

Click click, photos of the crime scene were taken. Evidence was collected. Click click, more photos and more disgusted stares. What a gruesome crime scene but not unknown to the people here.

A bloody trail went from the living room up the stairs into the separate bedrooms. The beds were also red. They must have been killed in their sleep. Did they go peacefully or did they have to stare into the eyes of their killer while desperately trying to catch a breath and drowning in their own blood? What did it sound like, similar to gurgling? Or had they been alive while they were dragged down the stairs?

The Dursleys were dead, as simple as that. But the Dursley were not the only dead family. In fact, they were the fourth one. What appeared to be perfectly normal people were found dead in their houses for what appeared to be no reason at all. Who would kill a family and nonetheless children as well? And especially four families? They didn't have any enemies, they didn't have any debt, they were upstanding individuals in their community. Why kill them?

There was DNA evidence all over the crime scene, just like at the others. The search results for the DNA came up blank, nothing. How can you find a murderer when he appears to be invisible? Nobody has seen him go in or out of the houses. He didn't show up on any of the security cameras in the areas, or at least that is what we believed. He didn't exist, he was faceless.

Until now, until the door to the cupboard under the stairs was opened and a little boy was saved. They didn't know his name yet. What they knew was that he was severely underweight, malnourished, dehydrated, had a cracked rib and had bruises all over him. If the killer would have found him, his throat would have been slit as well. After all, witnesses were never good. The only explanation there was, was that he had been abused. Abused by his own relatives, as far as we knew, nonetheless.

He didn't speak, just stared into the empty space of his blanket. They gave him an infusion and a feeding tube. The detective would send somebody to interrogate him and ask him some questions. His has only been in the hospital a night after all. He had become the key in this whole case.

What a curious case after all.

* * *

The hospital blanket felt thin between is fingers. He wrapped it around his fingers and unwrapped it. Then he wrapped them again. The feeding tube felt uncomfortable but he wasn't one to complain. He could feel with every drop of the infusion and every calorie of the feeding tube he began to feel better. His body recovered. Thanks to his healing ability it happened at an abnormal rate. They haven't figured it out yet but would soon.

Next to him sat a social worker. She was in her mid-thirties and already began to grey. Her black hair was streaked with silver strands. She didn't wear gasses but Harry thought that they would suit her very well. She just had one of those faces. She wore a skirt and a white blouse. In, what she maybe thought was a gentle voice, she spoke to him. But he just couldn't seem to make out the words. They blended together into a stream of unrecognisable sounds. But this had something calming as well.

She tried to grab his hand and Harry flinched back, looking up the first time. Now he saw her eyes. They were dark pits of black and reminded him of the killer's aura. He couldn't look at them. Even a second was agonizing for him. How could one have eyes so black? He looked down again. Wrap, unwrap, wrap, unwrap. Did his fingers always looked this small and fragile?

In his mind he saw the blood again and the empty eyes, the twitch of a limb. He felt sick and his head started spinning. Was is because of the memories or was it because he was going to have a vision again? He hoped it wasn't going to be a vision. This wouldn't end well in the hospital. They would test him and examine him and would find absolutely nothing. No, it would be best to keep it a secret.

When he next paid attention to his surroundings, the stream of sound has ended. The social worker was still there, he threw her a quick glance. Her eyes were blue. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Who could he trust if not his own brain? It must be the shock. It just must be. He didn't want to think that he couldn't even rely on himself anymore. Alone the thought was hurting him.

The woman smiled at him. Her teeth were abnormally white and the big smile just looked weird on her. Harry thought that maybe one of those little timid smiles would suit her better. Then she stood up and left the room. He was glad; he didn't know how much longer he could have taken her presence. Not that it had been that bad but she had started to annoy him. He felt like her eyes had drilled into him and tried to analyse every bit of him. He also needed to pee.

His body felt weak but also much stronger than all the days he spent in the cupboard. Which didn't mean a lot, truly. Should he wait for one of the nurses or just go himself? Then he shook his head. When did he ever need help? Certainly he could go and pee without help. Also he didn't know when the next nurse would come by and he wasn't going to wait for that. He needed to use the loo now.

When he had woken up in the hospital he was wearing one of those little hospital dresses and underwear. Hopefully it was a fresh pair. Somebody must have washed him because he didn't smell any pee on him anymore. How embarrassing. But he could still smell the sweet scent of the rotting flesh. It just would not leave his nose! Sure, he had seen many dead bodies over the course of his life, he had even killed. He had looked in the dead eyes of the death eaters and had felt no remorse or regret. But never had he smelled the sickening smell of rotting bodies, nevertheless for days on end. It was something he never wanted to smell again. Never had he had the flies flying around him and knowing that they had laid their eggs in the dead flesh.

He swung his leg over so that they hung over the bed. Somehow this bed appeared to be so tall, or was he just short? He had never been the tallest but not that small at least that was how he remembered it. Holding on to his IV-stand he jumped down and promptly fell over. He landed on his knees and forcefully took in a breath. That hurt. Hopefully they weren't going to bruise. He got up to his feet and slowly made his way over to the bathroom door. Why did it take so much strength out of him just to walk? This was annoying. Hopefully his healing hurries up. He hated to feel so helpless.

Finally, in the bathroom he climbed onto the toilet. When he was done, he flushed and washed his hands. He needed to stand on his toes to reach the tap. The cold water felt good on his skin. He splashed some onto his face. He instantly felt refreshed.

Then he heard somebody entering his hospital room. He froze in his tracks, not knowing what to do. He was afraid. He knew it was stupid; he was in a hospital, what was there to be afraid of? But he could help it. His hands shook. His eyes were glued to the door. Slowly the door handle was pressed down. He was breathing faster now. Who was behind that door? Or what?

The door swung open and a male nurse looked at him. He looked big and muscular. Harry went a few steps back, still afraid. Why did the nurse look so intimidating to him? He tried to focus on the nice eyes which were grey but most importantly, friendly.

"There you are, I was looking for you", he said and reached out for him. Harry's body just reacted without his approval and flinched away. The nurse dropped his hand looking kind of surprised. He quickly caught himself again. Then he crouched to Harry's level and gave him a smile. It was a nice smile with not too much teeth.

"My name is Lance and I am here to help you", he said with a gentle voice. Harry wanted to trust him but found himself unable to. Everything seemed to be out of his control. "Come on, I'll help you back into the bed", Lance said and straightened up and left the bathroom but waited at the door for Harry and held it open for him. How nice of him, Harry had no other choice but to follow. His steps were uncertain and he felt sick again. No vision, please, at least not now.

Harry left the bathroom and had to walk in front of Lance now. Suddenly he felt dizzy again and stumbled forward. In a short scary moment he was falling forward until a strong arm wrapped around his torso and saved him. Then he was lifted up like he weighted nothing and placed back into bed. He didn't like to get picked up.

"If you need to go to the bathroom the next time, call me or wait for me", Lance said gently but also firmly. But his lips were raised into a smile. His colours were genuine and friendly, yellow and pink with a grass green. It was pleasant to look at. His aura even had a shine of white around it, a shade so pure he has never seen before. He instantly trusted him more. Not fully, but more which was a good step in the right direction.

It didn't seem like Lance wanted a response but Harry remained quiet anyways. There was nothing to say. The nurse was checking the IV and the feeding tube.

"How are you? Are you in any pain?", Lance asked him as he sat down in the bed. He was uncomfortably close for Harry's liking but he didn't dare to inch back. Was he alright? Probably. Was he in pain? Yes, a lot, but the pain was not all physical. Harry didn't know how to answer; his voice just wouldn't react so he just stared onto the white blanket. He started to wrap and unwrap his fingers again.

Lance just sighed. Harry hoped that he would go. But deep down, he hoped that he would stay. Lance left. Harry was glad but it also hurt. Everybody left. Tears wanted to make their way into his eyes but Harry blinked them away. He just couldn't cry anymore. Not for this at least. He didn't cry at all the funerals; he went to all there were, so he wasn't allowed to cry here as well. Not for something so petty.

The door opened again and Lance returned. When Harry looked up he flashed him a smile. Harry automatically pulled the corner of his lips up as well. Shyly he looked away. Why was he behaving like this? Why did he smile? Something was placed into his lap.

"Here, I brought you something to draw with so you can pass some time", Lance said and smiled. Again. Weird guy. "But you could also watch some Telly if you wanted to", he continued and placed a remote on the bed as well. Then he somehow brought a table out and placed it on the bed as well. "Here, I will be back in a few hours to check on you again", with these words he left. But Harry felt warm, somebody cared. It was a strange warmth, it came from the inside and spread through his whole body. It was not like his healing ability that warmth was fiery and fierce. This warmth was like an old friend he didn't know.

He brought up the papers and the pencils. He had all sorts of colours and blank paper. What should he draw? He looked at the colours. There was a black one. Technically black was just the absence or complete absorption of visible light. White fully reflects and scatters all the visible wavelengths of light. Thus Harry would say that they are not colours. But there was the black pencil. He grabbed it and looked at it closer. It reminded him of, it reminded him of, he couldn't even think it. Out of impulse he grabbed the colour and threw it against the wall. With a quiet noise the pencil dropped to the floor and it was silent again. Nothing has changed. How stupid he was and now he was exhausted.

Harry decided to draw Lance. Not Lance as a person but his colours. It turned out pretty in Harry's opinion but he couldn't get the swirls right and the fluency of the colours. He wanted to try again. But who should he draw? He couldn't get Vernon's colours out of his head. He didn't know if he had been dead when he last saw him. Muscle spasms could occur even after death after all.

Vernon's colours were a mess, a chaos. Somehow, Harry didn't remember when, Harry had drawn Vernon's head in there and his wide open dead eyes and a slashed throat. It didn't look very realistic but when Harry saw it, it summoned the real dead Vernon. Harry didn't feel sad or wanted him back. He was just disturbed. Vernon out of all people had deserved it.

On a new sheet of blank paper Harry decided to write some of his thoughts down. After he had written the first few words in English, he decided that he didn't want any of the staff members to read it so he switched to German. German was the second hardest language he had learned. First would be Greek. He had to learn them during his Unspeakable training and with a little bit of help he had been fluent fast. He liked learning languages.

* * *

It was night time and Lance had stopped by a total of three times during the day. One time he had complimented his drawing even though they must have looked like a mess to him. Harry had hidden his written notes. The second time Lance had told Harry that in just one or two days he would be rid of the feeding tube. Harry was excited to lose that thing. The third time Lance came into the room Harry had felt really sick and nauseous. It felt like he would get a vision but he pushed the feeling back. Lance sensed that Harry wasn't feeling good and thought it was because of the feeding tube. He rubbed Harry belly and Harry was proud to say that he didn't flinch back. It even felt good, really good and helped him to relax some more.

It wasn't completely dark in his room. Light from the corridor shone into his room. He was glad. He didn't know if he could fully fall asleep. He didn't feel save and the mattress of the bed was too soft. He was used to the hard floor. But somehow the next think he knew was that he was back in the cupboard under the stairs. Everything was dark and it stank again. Everything was full of flies and spiders with big bodies. He didn't know how he knew he just did. He tried to open the door of the cupboard but he couldn't. It was locked as always. No surprise there. The walls came towards him and the room got smaller and smaller and the spiders crawled on him and the flies flew through his mouth and nostrils into his body. He wanted to scream but couldn't. He was eaten alive and couldn't do anything about it.

Harry woke up panting. What a strange nightmare. Normally he would relive bad memories but flies, spiders and claustrophobia that was inventive. His mind was getting creative. It was still dark but he imagined that is was getting lighter and lighter in his room.

Nausea hit him like a wall and his head began to hurt and pound in his skull. He was going to have a vision and that soon. He needed to hide. Bathroom, no he couldn't lock the door. Under the bed, no too easy to find him. He ripped the IV out of his arm, he didn't mind the few drops of blood that came with it and choked up the feeding tube while pulling at it. He threw it aside and swung his legs out of the bed. He was already feeling stronger than he did yesterday. He ran to the door and reminded to peek out first before dashing through. The floor was almost empty. He tip toed out and decided to go left. He walked past open doors and wanted to peek in but the nausea was getting worse - if that was possible.

He found the toilets. They consisted out of each a room per gender with door you could lock. Perfect. Harry went into the male's bathroom and locked the door behind him. He let out a sigh feeling relieved. The room was big, for a toilet at least, and looked over all very clean. The walls and the floor were covered in tiles. They were white, go figure. Harry slit down to the ground and curled up. The cold tiles felt good on his hot skin.

When he though he couldn't take the pain anymore his muscles cramped and he started to spasm uncontrollably, then he blacked out.

 _It was dark, first he couldn't see but then a man came into focus. He had black unruly hair, but not as unruly as his hair. He was very pale and his dark eyes had dark circles underneath them. He looked like a panda and was rather handsome in a strange way. The oddest thing about him was not his appearance but how he sat in a crouching position. He looked at Harry and then drew something on the paper in front of him. Harry didn't know it was there, it just appeared. But well, it was a vision; they are not supposed to be logical. The man drew the letter L in a gothic style. What does this mean? Maybe it was the first letter of a name? The man got another piece of paper and started to write. Harry couldn't read it yet and when the person showed it to him he tried to focus his eyes. It said…_

Harry came back to the sound of banging at the door. Harry couldn't move, not yet at least. His muscles hurt like hell and were stiff. He felt tired and cold. He didn't feel his healing ability, so maybe it needed more time to recover. The banging grew louder and louder and then he heard somebody open the door. Harry just laid there, still not able to move. With tired eyes he glanced up to Lance's face.

Lance mouth formed words but somehow Harry couldn't make them out. He lifted him up and carried him out. Harry felt protected. How strange. He had never felt protected, not even at Hogwarts.

* * *

They hooked him back up to the IV and feeding tube. They explained to him that he was caught outside of bed without supervision of the staff one more time; they were going to bind him to the bed. Now, his door was always open and every hour a nurse would come in. It was always Lance.

After a doctor had examined him they wrote it off as a psychotic episode due to his traumatic experiences. Harry let them, he didn't want to speak up and correct them. Now, he an appointment with a psychologist and he didn't know how he should feel about it. They told him that the police had questions for him what happened but they assured him that he didn't need speak to them right away. How friendly of them.

* * *

He was drawing when the psychologist came in the next day. He was tall and lanky and his colours were a sad blue and a serious grey. Harry didn't look up and ignored the man. He sat down on the chair next to him. Harry hoped that he would be quiet

"Hello, my name is Thomas Williams but you can call me Tom", he said with a deep voice that sounded reassuring to Harry. Harry glanced up briefly and nodded. He was drawing Dudley at the moment, his colours of course.

"Why don't you tell me your name, little man", Tom tried. Harry considered. What did he have to lose; the police would be here soon anyways. They probably already knew his name anyways.

"Harry", he whispered. His voice was raspy because he didn't speak in a while. It hurt a little because his throat was so dry.

"Harry, what a nice name", Tom said. Harry didn't look up but he imagined that he smiled. "How do you like it here? Did you make any friends?", he asked. Harry considered and decided not to answer. He took a blue colour in his hand which was not unlike the one of Tom's colours. This was Dudley's hidden sadness. Why would he have been sad? He had everything he could ever want.

"What are you drawing?", Tom asked looking at the picture. There were all sorts of colours but it seemed that Harry didn't pick them randomly but rather had a system, interesting. Harry shrugged. Maybe he could give him a little scare or mess with him. He wanted to tell somebody about his abilities, he really did. He wanted to see how people would react and he felt a little reckless as well.

"It's Dudley", Harry said while shrugging his shoulders. Tom wrinkled his forehead.

"Interesting form to portray him, don't you think?", Tom said with a smile in his voice.

"It's his colours", Harry answered, exciting to see how he would react.

"His colours? Does everybody have colours or just him?", Tom askes, hiding his concern. Harry looked up and Tom could see his huge green eyes. They looked empty.

"Why, everybody has colours. You do too. They are sad blue and serious grey but underneath they are a happy yellow. It's a nice yellow", Harry said and smiles the smile only children can produce. It is the innocent kind.

"Do you have a colour as well?", Tom asked. Harry was surprised, he has never thought of that before. Did he? He looked down on himself. He was a pure white like an empty canvas, odd.

"I don't seem to have a colour, it is a pure white. Maybe that means I have all the colours because white reflects and scatters all the visible wavelengths of light?", Harry asked.

A silence hung between them. Tom was thinking. The child seemed intelligent but oddly disturbed.

"Could you see them your whole life?", he wanted to know. Harry thought for a minute. What should he answer? It was probably smarter to claim to have seen them his whole life. So Harry just nodded. After that he asked more questions but Harry didn't want to answer them anymore. He wasn't even sure if it had been a good idea to tell Tom. Well, now it was too late and he didn't have any magic anymore to delete or alter his memories. What a shame, he still missed is magic.

* * *

It was not long after Tom has left that the door opened again. Lance came in with two guys in police uniforms and an elderly man with a bag.

"Harry, these are the people from the police I have told you about. Do you feel up to some questions?", Lance asked in a nice tone. Harry nodded. The elderly guy took a laptop out of the bag and positioned it. On the screen was the letter L in a gothic style.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, I am in a lot of stress recently, I have a lot going on. Sorry again that this chapter is a week late, I don't think I can make up for it. We have visitors at the moment (actually from Canada, one of my old teachers and his daughter) and I try to show them around and do stuff together with them. Next chapter might be late as well. Thanks for all the feedback! That keeps me motivated J

I have a question for your guys, do you like L or Light better, or do you like both and why? I personally like L better because I am just repelled by the idea to kill someone doesn't matter what they have done.

Also, is there anything you want to have explained about Harry? I am not revealing everything right now in the story because most is from his point of view and he just doesn't know, yet at least.

Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 6

Harry didn't know at who he should look at. There were the two police officers, the old man and this intimidating laptop. The letter L on it pulled him in and he couldn't stop looking at it. It was the same style of letter the man drew in his vision. It seemed like there was a string attached to it, leading away. Harry couldn't say where it ended. Maybe this was a connection like the one he had seen on the old man's book? But he didn't dare to get up and touch it.

The old man looked friendly enough but he felt how his gaze took every detail of him in and analyzed it. He felt like he was under a microscope and didn't like it. He avoided the man's eyes. The two police officers looked normal enough. One seemed fairly young; the other one was in his mid-fourties. The younger one stood at the end of his bed, the old man as well. The older police officer moved to his left side. His steps were confident but also a little slow. Maybe not to scare him off?

They were talking but Harry couldn't bring himself to follow it. He knew what they wanted but he couldn't give it to them. He briefly looked up when his door opened again. The social worker came in, her eyes were blue, at least one good sign. Harry looked down again. The voices became a background noise and blended into a low buzz in the back of his head.

He knew, he should tell them what he knew; there was a killer on the loose after all. He wanted too, he really did, but his tongue was tied up. The feeding tube was still in place and it felt uncomfortable. Lance told him that he could get rid of it maybe tomorrow. He wanted it out now. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder and Harry looked up. His body flinched away from the touch and his heart started beating faster. It pounded in his ears. He hated how his body reacted and how he just couldn't stop it. He couldn't help it, he was scared. He also hated that, damn it, he was over 20 and now he was afraid of touch?

"Harry, please, can you answer our questions? It is really important, you don't want more families killed, do you?", the middle aged police officer asked him. His voice was low and soft and was probably intended to be soothing. Harry shook his head in return and shrugged the hand off his shoulder. His forced himself to fully focus at the man in front of him. The first thing he noticed on him was a steal blue grey colour. It was really intense and flowed around him in waves. But he had some black mixed in as well, it scared Harry. Not because the shade seemed evil to him, not on this man, it seemed to be necessary. No, it reminded him of the murder. What surprised Harry was that there was a pure white colour as well. The colours were perfectly balanced. Harry quickly glanced to the younger police officer, he had ginger hair. His white colour outweighed the black one and the grey was nearly non-existent. Interesting.

"Just answer what you see yourself able to answer, Harry dear", the social worker said and glared at the police officer. Her colours flashed red. Harry nodded. How odd, she acted like she cared but it was just her job, right? She can't care for every kid she supervises, can she?

"First off, what is your full name and how old are you?", the police officer asked and smiled at him. It was a forced smile and his colours told Harry that he didn't mean it but still had only good intentions. It was this kind of smile you smiled for other because you have to but you do it anyways. Harry debated, should he tell him? He had nothing to lose. But about his age, they wouldn't believe him if he said that he was 21, now would they? He just had to trust his previous calculations and say that he was 7. If he could, Harry wouldn't say a thing but he understood the urgency of the situation. He was the sole suspect in a murder case.

"My name is Harry Potter, Sir, and I am 7 years old", Harry answered. His voice was barely more than a whisper. The Police officer nodded and noted it on his little notebook. Harry didn't even see how he pulled it out of his pocket. It was one of those little black notebooks you could get in every store. It didn't look cheap but it was.

"My name is Sam Walker, nice to meet you, lad. To begin with, what can you tell us about the night the murders happened, Harry", the officer asked. Harry thought for a second. What a general question.

"Please specify. A lot happened", Harry said. His voice was still raspy and it was difficult to talk. Even in his ears it sounded emotionless. It didn't matter to Harry, nothing really did right now. It was like his emotions poured out of his body like the blood did out of the slit throats of the Dursley's. The officer was taken aback a little and the older man with the laptop leaned in further. He looked at the kid with new interest.

"Well, achm, can you describe how the murderer got into the house and how he looked like? What happened that evening?", he asked. To Harry, those questions were still a bit broad formulated. But he told himself that he would try anyways. He would try to replicate the events as good as he could. To his knowledge he could, now and here in this universe, pretty well. He cleared his throat.

"My uncle, Vernon, he beat me up some days before it happened and I was locked in my cupboard ever since. I can't tell how many days have passed since then, but just to bring it into perspective; I was in a delirium, slipping in and out of consciousness when the doorbell rang. Dudley opened, but it must have been a stranger because he went to get Vernon to answer the door. He let the stranger in. To be honest, the stranger was odd. My first impression was that he looked fairly rich but further investigation lead to inconsistency. His suit looked expensive but his shoes weren't matching. He wore a clean shirt, well it was clean before he butchered the Dursleys, but there was dirt behind his ear. His face is smooth and average looking but there were scares riddling his arms. And those didn't appear to be self-inflicted. He had built up a façade to seem trustworthy but he became sloppy. Or maybe he wasn't sloppy at all but only had limited resources. Vernon let him in in hopes of getting paid or a reward or something in that manner. He would never help just for the sake. The stranger, the man, well, the murderer, he pretended that his car broke down. And the Dursleys let him use the house-phone and waited in their living room. What didn't strike them was that a person who pretends to be rich probably could have called a taxi or maybe has a mobile phone of their own. It was Vernon's greed that led them to their death. I remember, the TV was obnoxiously loud. Anyways, before he killed the Dursleys in their sleep, he played a board game with them after tea. Dudley lost first, then Petunia and finally Vernon. In that order he dragged them down the stairs after the deed. It is logical to assume that they were killed in that order as well. The game they played was Ludo (Menschärgeredichnicht). I saw them and asked myself what to feel. Vernon's muscles were still twitching. I, I came to the conclusion that it could have been worse. I am not dead, now am I?", Harry said in a cold voice that even surprised himself. His brain had put everything in order for him and he just had to speak it out loud. The last part he had mumbled to himself meant to be ironic; it wasn't intended for the others ears. His voice faded and it still rang in his own ears. He could see the dead bodies in front of his eyes again. And the blood. And then he had to think about Hogwarts, he turned away, trying to shake of the thoughts and memories. If only he had still his original magic. It hurt.

It was oddly silent in the room after the monologue. Everyone had to digest what came out of the kid's mouth. It was certainly nothing they had expected. They thought, maybe he would tell them that is had been a man or a woman or that his or her voice had been cold or sweet or scary or even that he couldn't remember at all. That he heard his family die or that he wanted to do something but he couldn't because he was locked in. Everything in this childish high voice and maybe he would cry and some tears would spill onto the hospital bed. They ould comfort him and tell him that it hadn't been his fault, that he couldn't have changed it and in fact if by trying so he would have died himself. But what they hadn't expected was a cold analyse of the night and the suspect. A cold child and an emotionless voice and dead eyes. They didn't expect it truly, especially from a kid, a child, someone who is meant to be protected. What happened?

* * *

Somewhere else a man sat behind a screen, following what was happening on it rather bored. The blue light of the screen lit up his face and reflected in his eyes. He ate strawberry cheesecake and drank coffee that was more sugar than coffee. The cake was good, not to sweet, coffee couldn't be sweet enough. The kid on the screen looked like any abused kid would look like, nothing overly special except for his brilliant green eyes maybe. He presents the typical signs of abuse, the flinching, the looking down and not meeting anyone's eye, the nervous behaviour and expecting to getting beaten anytime.

When the kid, Harry, started to talk the young man couldn't but lean forward and suck on his thumb. Obviously there was more to the kid than he had expected. It wasn't always that he was being surprised. Interesting, indeed. He should have an eye on the kid, just for now. This information would help bring the case forward. He had a good idea now of the suspect motivations for the murders and whatand most importantly who to look for. He was 74 percent certain that they would be able to catch him by the end of next week.

But the kid, he reminded him of other kids he knew. He was an orphan now, wasn't he? Hm.

* * *

After Harry had explained his observations he didn't say anything. He was done, they wanted to catch a killer, now they could. They asked other questions but Harry just ignored them. After a while all left him alone but the social worker.

The social worker had talked with him, obviously seizing the opportunity that he had been talking before. She told him that when he was discharged from the hospital she would come and pick him up and bring him to a foster home. They were a nice family, already had 3 foster children, she told him. Miles and Wendy Miller, an older couple, good people. Harry didn't believe her. It was getting tricky, he only stayed with the Dursleys in the first place with the intention to run away some when. That they had been killed was good news, he thought that he was going to be free. He thought that he would be able to just walk away after. Now in hindsight that had been a stupide thought. He was underage and was practically an orphan without any other relatives now; of course the government wouldn't just let him go easily. He would have to make a run for it.

Running away isn't as easy as you thing it would be. First, you need a good plan. If somebody catches you outside with just the hospital gown and a hospital bracelet, they would definitely bring you back or worse, call the police. And then they would watch him more carefully and any other try would be thwarted. He could also wait until he was with the new family and then run away but the risk was that they lived further away. Now he was in London and London was a big and busy city. He was small and unnoticeable; he could hide in blind sight. Also, getting food and water and a place to sleep would be easier. In a small town he could be found faster and tramping was dangerous, that he knew, especially for a kid like him.

Then there was the hospital staff, every few hours they would check on him, the hospital was full of people, they won't just let him walk out. He needed to get some normal clothes that was his number first priority at the moment. He first had to gain their trust and play an innocent shy little child. They would get careless in his presence and that's when he will act. Maybe he can convince Lance to give him a tour of the floor?

* * *

He didn't have to wait long for Lance just 20 minutes or so as far he could tell. There was no clock. The time waiting he spent with feeling and exploring his body. He felt so good. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good and comfortable in his own skin, not even in his old world. The heat of the healing got lesser and lesser. These were definitely great conditions for a quick healing. Maybe he should thank Lance that man has taken him to the toilet for the past days after all. The bruises were gone, in some places there was a yellowish green shadow left. His ribs didn't hurt anymore at all but most importantly as crazy this might sound like but he thought he had put on weight. Not a lot but at least enough not to look like someone who had crawled through a desert and back. He wasn't starved anymore or at least didn't look like it. He didn't know if he was still malnourished but he suspected the answer would be no. He knew that the doctors would recognize the difference but he couldn't prevent that from happening right now. He just had to live with it and pretend he didn't know why. He just knew that they were going to ask a lot of question. They won't interrogate him but they will wonder. The wondering will lead to investigation but he also knew already that it will lead to nothing. Even if he would tell them, they would believe him.

Lance came through the door with a doctor. The doctor was tall and blond, her nose was a little pointy and her smile a little too wide, but she looked friendly. Her colour was a springy green and a light pink. They looked good together and somehow, Harry didn't know why he knew, completed her personality.

"Hello Harry, good to see you up! How are you feeling, dear?", she said with a nice voice. It was a bit deep for a woman but Harry thought it sounded cool. It had character. He preferred it over overly high ones, those hurt in the ear.

"I feel good, madam", he said timidly. It was the truth after all. The doctor smiled at him, expecting him to lie. For all she knew he was still in no condition to be able to feel nearly good.

"My name is Elise Friday, by the way. You can call me aunty Elise if you want to", she told him and winked. Harry shuddered on the inside. Aunty? Better not, how embarrassing, how old they thought he was? Okay well, yes, he was technically 7 to them. So he nodded in response.

"We will take your blood pressure and I will examine you some more. If you are lucky we can get rid of the tube, how does that sound? Maybe you'll get a Lolly Pop as well after, hm?", she said still smiling under the illusion that a Lolly Pop would be a sufficient motivator. This smile started to creep him out a little. "If you don't feel good or if you want us to stop, just tell us and we will stop!"

The whole thing was just a huge embarrassment for Harry. Lance took his blood pressure and after, the doctor listened to his breathing. The stethoscope felt very cold on his skin. He also wanted to flinch away several times but for the first time he could bring his body to not to, a little accomplishment at least.

Elise felt his ribs and looked at the spots he bruises had been. Then she did it again and again. Harry could see that she was astonished, totally flabbergasted. He felt a little smug. Lance glance at him and then at the doctor and back. He was observing everything and wasn't sure yet what was going on. He could feel the nervous energy radiating around Elise.

"Well it seems like you have gone through a miraculously fast healing process. You are totally fine, maybe a bit underweight but other than that… I knew kids heal fast, but that fast? Anyways, we will take out your feeding tube, alright little man?", Elise said. Harry's next words took everything out of him to bring them over his lips.

"Really aunty Elise? That is so cool, thank you so much", Harry said and flinched on the inside. Aunty Elise smiled and gave him a Lolly Pop. It was a red one; at least it wasn't one of the gross kinds.

* * *

Harry felt much better without the feeding tube. He wasn't sure if Lance was keeping a closer eye on him because he healed so fast and suspected something or if he didn't because technically Harry was fine. They would discharge him in a few days. It was good on the one hand because Harry didn't like hospitals, never has, but on the other hand he had less time now to form an escape plan.

His room was located on the children's wing. He peeked out his room. He didn't wear shoes and his feet felt cold from the floor. There was nobody in sight. Lance had allowed him to do some exploring as long as he stayed on the floor. He stepped out of his room and looked around. Nothing looked really familiar, when he had raced out of his room a few days ago he didn't really had time to take in his surroundings. Luckily he hadn't felt sick since, hopefully it would stay like that.

It was quiet which was odd because you would think that on the children's wing there would be children running around. Maybe they are just too sick? He followed the long corridor until he heard voices. Drawn to it Harry was lead to a room with a glass window. The door was not fully closed so he slipped in. He could make out what the voice was saying.

"… _*and the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God. In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.**_ The end", told a pleasant voice the ending of a fairy tale.

Harry had been so enchanted by the story he hasn't realized that he stopped in the middle of the door way. On a chair surrounded by children sat Madam Pomfrey. She didn't look as stressed as she used to in Hogwarts. She smiled down at the children and ha a thick story book in her lap. She glanced up.

"Ah, boy, come in and join us! I will tell another story", she said and smiled warmly at him. Harry was shocked and it wouldn't surprise him if he would be shaking. He didn't expect Poppy Pomfrey to be here. On unsteady legs he made his way to the circle of sitting children. They were looking at him curiously. Some had broken bones and had a plaster. Some were hooked up on oxygen tanks and some looked totally normal, like him. They all wore hospital gowns.

Harry sat down on a pillow. It was soft. Next to him was a very pale boy, he looked sick. He had an oxygen tank but his lips were still blueish. Madam Pomfrey had started to tell another tale but Harry wasn't listening. He was too focused on the boy next to him. Suddenly the boy turned around and looked at him.

"It is rude to stare, you know?", he whispered. His colours were sickly green and a hopeful blue and a sad blue.

"Sorry", Harry muttered and looked down. He was starring, wasn't he? The colour made him curious; the sickly green could represent a disease then? He glance around and saw that all children had some sort of a sickly green.

"It's okay, my name is Jamie and I am going to die soon", Jamie said and extended a hand. He smiled. Harry's eyes widened. That's a way to introduce oneself. Harry took the hand nevertheless.

"My name is Harry and I already died", he said telling just the truth. Jamie just nodded and took it as a fact. Harry kind of liked him.

"So what are you here for?", Jamie asked. Harry thought a moment about it. That sounded like they were in prison.

"My relatives abused me and then got murdered, you?", he answered casually. Maybe that had been too much for the kid, he worried. But surprisingly Jamie just nodded again.

"Wow, that's cool, now they can't hurt you anymore. My parents don't want to tell me what I have but I overheard the nurses talking about me. I have one or two month left", he said.

"More like eavesdropped I imagine", Harry snorted. Jamie looked at him sheepishly and grinned.

"Well, yeah", he said. Then his eyes turned sad. "You will outlive me"

The statement hang between them like a wall, separating them. It laid heavily on Harry, he had gotten a second change and this kid is just supposed to die? How is that fair? He would rather die and give this child a chance; he didn't want to live anyways. There was nothing for him. Death's promises had turned out to be a bunch of lies. Maybe he can contact death somehow and convince him not to take Jamie's soul? That was a thought worth investigating.

"I guess", harry answered, not sure what to say. "Maybe I can ask death to spare your life", he said but damned himself in the same moment. He didn't want to give the child a hope if there probably was none.

"I tried that already, I am still sick. God isn't listening as well", Jamie replied. Harry nodded, pretending to see the logic in it.

"Can you do something for me?", he asked. Harry nodded again, there was little you could decline a deadly sick child. "Live for me"

 _** Quote from "The Little Match Girl" from Hans Christian Andersen_


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys, I am so sorry that it took so long to update. The next update will take some time as well, I have a lot to do for the next few weeks. But this story will be continued no matter what and the update-cycle should be back to normal in October/November (weekly updates).

Chapter 7

 _Harry stood in a long hallway. It was dark and Harry couldn't see the end. The walls were glowing in an eerie green colour. He walked forwards but he couldn't control it. He felt calm and collected although he wanted to panic and turn around. His body wasn't listening to his commands anymore. His legs walked faster and faster until he was almost running. The hallway didn't change at all; it looked all the same as if he wasn't putting any distance behind. It creeped him out, especially because he couldn't see the end of it. After some time, it could have been minutes or days, he didn't know, the glowing walls muted down. It got darker and darker until Harry was surrounded by darkness. He could hear the beating of his own heart. It grew louder and louder until he thought it couldn't get any louder anymore and then, it stopped._

 _"_ _Master, I didn't expect to see you so soon again", said a voice. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and was ever ageless. Harry was surprised but couldn't express the anger he wanted to feel right now._

 _"_ _Death", Harry acknowledged the higher being. He wanted to scream and beat the thing into a lump for what it has done to him. "Why?", he had to asked instead. The overall calmness didn't let anything else happen. What a pity._

 _"_ _Why what, child? Aren't you content?", he asked. Its voice was ageless, it was a child's voice and an old man's voice at the same time. Harry wanted to laugh, he wanted to make a sarcastic remake but couldn't. His mouth wouldn't move and his tongue was glued to the top of the roof of his mouth_

 _"_ _Don't you know? You promised happiness and where am I now? I am anything but happy. I'd rather be dead", Harry said. And it was true. Harry wanted to be united with his family and most of all, Sirius and Remus. He hadn't had a change to get to know his parents thus he wasn't missing them really. It was more a longing and regret for not being able to get to know them, for not learning how to love them. But Sirius, he had been like a father to him, like he imagined a father would be like. Remus has been somebody he has always looked up to. And he wanted to be together with them for the rest of eternity._

 _"_ _You are an impatient one, aren't you? But if it is calming you, soon you will find your place in this universe, it won't take long anymore. I know of you deepest wish, child. You want to be united with your family; I have to disappoint you for you can never be united with the dead", death spoke. His voice began to fade away. So was the darkness, it became brighter and lighter. It was like a heavy cloak was lifted of off him. Harry didn't want Death to go away. What did he mean; he couldn't be united with the dead? He wanted answers, not ambiguous sayings. He tried to hold on to the darkness and the calmness which seemed to be somehow connected to it. It was all for void because he got pulled away._

* * *

Harry woke up with a gasp. He sat straight up in his bed and looked around disorientated. He was in the hospital bed again. What a disappointment. At least his body was feeling good now. The regular food was helping, he looked almost normal for somebody his age. He got out of bed which he was allowed to do now since yesterday. He needed to escape, the woman from social services wanted to pick him up tomorrow. It was already the later afternoon; he just wanted to take a nap. How could he have known that he would be visiting death again?

He got rid of the IV, it was the only thing he was connected to. From under the mattress he pulled out a pullover and pants he had stolen from one of the kids on the station. He didn't regret it or felt bad, he really needed them. The kid's parents could bring some new ones. He put them on. They smelled and were a little too big but latter would work in his advantage here. The pullover had a hood which he pulled over his head and into his face. Disguised like this he left the room. He knew that most of the nurses had their coffee break right now and only some were left on the station. He didn't know which day it was but it must have been a day during the week, not a lot of visitors were there at the moment.

When Harry first walked through the hall was trying to make himself small and tried to blend in with the background. His feet made funny sounds on the ground. Soon it got to him that it probably looked really suspicious and drew more attention to him than otherwise. He tried to walk confident. He had a right to be here and he had a destination that was what he told himself.

The elevator was empty; he was on the third floor. The doors closed behind him and the whole thing started to move. His heart was beating faster and faster. It was almost exploding in his chest and he could hear an echo of it in his ears. He didn't know why he was so nervous, he has done a lot more dangerous things in his lifetime and he usually managed to maintain a clear head. He noticed that most of his emotions were overboard and he was not like his usual self. That must be his child's body, he had no other explanation. It got on his nerves, especially when he thought that he probably had to relive puberty again. What a drag.

Nobody entered the elevator; he had been alone the whole ride. The ambulance seemed to be busy; it was easy to sneak out. There was somebody with a bloody hand and a really pale face, there was a woman looking totally normal just sitting in the waiting room, a boy with a cut in this face, an old man on crutches, a teenager who rather stood than sat and an overworked nurse in the entrance. He snuck out while a young couple, the man helping the girl walk, walked in. He took in a big breath of fresh air. It was cold and smelled like snow. Like wintertime. He loved the smell of winter, it reminded him of the good time, of…, he didn't want to think about it. Suddenly, the winter air didn't seem to smell as good as before.

He walked around the building onto a busy street. The ground had a white shine to it; it must be colder than he estimated. His naked feet hurt. True, it had been cold in the hospital as well but the frozen ground didn't help. His little feet were already pink. People walked past him, not many paid him attention, and if they did, they probably thought he was a homeless kid, a street kid, or maybe a street rat, depending on their mood. It didn't bother him; at least they left him alone. Now that he was free again, he didn't know what to do. He hadn't planned that far. His most important priority had been to escape the hospital and escape the possibility to end up with a foster family. He didn't want to live with a woman and a man who thought that he was their new child now and he didn't want pretend to be a child, not anymore. He didn't want to be abused anymore.

He needed to find a place where he could stay the night and wouldn't freeze to death. Maybe find something to eat and drink as well, behind a restaurant maybe? Could he go to a soup kitchen? He decided no, they would be looking for him and he was too young not to be noticed there. They would call the police. He could manage without some food for a while, especially sine his body was fully healed and strong again. This would be an advantage.

He hadn't walked far from the hospital, maybe a block. He didn't pay any attention to the street, just to the people passing him. He looked out for threats but didn't consider the cars to be one, except maybe it was a police car. He was surprised when a black limousine with toned windows stopped next to him. He wanted to walk faster but somebody jumped out of the car and towards him. It caught him unprepared and he wanted to run and bold away but it was like in one of those nightmares in which you want to run and run fast but no matter how much you try and push your body you couldn't and it was as if you tried to run through water and it was actively trying to hold you back. This is how it felt for Harry, even though it seemed time slowed down for the matter of seconds his body couldn't catch up and the figure caught him and pulled a cotton bag over his head. He tried to fight and scream but it seemed the attacker had injected something into his bloodstream because he began to feel sluggish and even though all he saw was black, the blackness began to spin and spin and his body stopped moving, he tried to command his limbs to obey him but it was hopeless.

He wasn't unconscious, he was in a state of daze and it felt like a thick fog surrounded his brain and didn't let any outside information through. He somehow knew that he was in the black car and that somebody must have laid him down. He knew that he felt numb and he couldn't move, he didn't want to, to be honest, and he knew that he wasn't alone. Somebody was breathing right across from him.

He was on a ship, sailing through high waves. He was pushed from the left to the right and then to the left again. Could he also hear the roar of the waves? And suddenly he was pulled out of that reality and recognized the roar of the waves for what it really was; it was the noise of a car engine. Somehow he wanted the waves back, it had been more peaceful.

His body radiated heat and he felt how it was trying to pull him back into the real reality. It didn't help against the developing headache. He moaned and tried to sit up. He still had the cotton bag over his head but he wasn't constrained which surprised him. Wouldn't good kidnappers do that? The bag over his head made him feel anxious and breathing became harder, he squeezed his eyes shut. At the same time it gave him security, and some kind of protection. He didn't know where he was or who was sitting across from him. As long as he didn't see it, he didn't need to worry about it. He knew himself how childish that logic was and that he should come up with a plan, a strategy to flee. He had fought a war and was still alive, had the necessary education to free himself and escape. But something about the situation he was in striked him as awkward. Why wasn't he handcuffed?

"You are awake, good", said a voice. The voice sounded surprisingly young and somehow calculative. "I expected you to be out longer but if one can trust your medical report, you heal astonishingly fast"

Harry knew the voice, he didn't know from where. Slowly he raised his hands to pull the bag away. The fabric felt soft under his fingertips. Then he ripped it off in a hasty movement. A wall of cold air hit his face and it hurt a little. He blinked and then he blinked again. Even though he could tell that it wasn't that bright in the car, it was still too bright for his eyes. He blinked a couple of times. When the world returned to focus a very familiar man sat in front of him. It was the same raven hair coloured man as in his visions. Thanks to this realisation Harry's reaction was unspectacular. His eyes widen lightly, then the identification made itself know, his eyes returned to normal, the left corner of his lips twitched and that was all. The young man's eyes narrowed. The boy was aware of him, maybe knew who he was and he didn't know why or how and that was unsettling.

"How did you...", he interrupted the boy. "How did I find you? There was a 76,3 percent possibility of you escaping and a 85 percent chance that you would chose this way. I have a few questions. To begin, how do you know who I am or who do you think I am?", he asked and looked with his dark, black hole like eyes straight at the child. They seemed to drill into him.

Harry starred at the man in front of him. He sat crouched on the bench. His jeans were a little big for him and covered partially his naked feet. They reminded him of his own naked feet and how cold they felt. The white T-shirt hung loose on his thin frame. He was pale and had dark purplish circles under his eyes. Harry felt a connection to him. The black haired man in front of him had a pure white aura, at least aspects of it were pure white. There was some grey, some blue, some black, Harry paused a second, and lastly, all was underlined by a reddish pink. His aura was very colourful and memorable. Harry wanted to touch it but supressed the urge.

"You are L, aren't you?", he said quietly after a few minutes of starring. L nodded, and leaned back.

"That is true. What do you think about the murder?", he asked the boy. It was a harsh question to ask a child but if his suspicions were true, the boy could handle it. It was also a kind of test to see how the boy would react and answer.

"Didn't I already answer that?", Harry asked, slightly confused.

"You did describe what happened, yes, but you haven't said what you thought about it, your conclusion" Harry thought about it a minute and put his thought into order.

"That is true I suppose, well, there are a lot of discrepancies in the suspect. On the one hand, he appeared to be wealthy but on the other hand, his shoes didn't match and he was dirty. The watch was probably a duplicate as well. The Dursleys wasn't the first family he killed, were they? He killed even the children which connote a feeling of jealousy and desire. The families must represent somebody for him, possibly his own family. My conclusion is that he was probably abused in his past, which would also explain the scares, and is now killing families similar to his own. He is jealous of them. His first kill was with a high probability his own family. He is using a false image of wealth to get the families to let him in. He himself is probably lacking the means to buy really expensive things. And the fact that he wasn't caught yet implies that he is either very good in hiding, which is probably partially true, or he lives somewhere authorities have no power." Harry paused and looked to L. L starred at him expectantly. "Maybe he is homeless and lives on the streets, disgusted as a homeless maniac not many people would approach him. Given the fact that he wouldn't cause any trouble", Harry ended and cleared his throat, it was dry.

L let out a soft hm, it was similar to what he had thought. The probability of his suspicions rose 20 percent.

"Thank you, Harry. I thought Wammy's House would be a good place for you, that is where we are driving to right now. Given the condition that you pass the entrance test, you can stay there", he said monotone. Harry glanced up. What was this place? Could he trust L, even though he was a detective and probably trustworthy, L was still a stranger. But wasn't anything better than the streets? But on the other hand, he would be caged again. But if it got too much, he could just flee again, couldn't he?

"What is Wammy's house?", he asked, his voice was a little raspy now.

"It is an orphanage for young genius like yourself", L answered. Harry didn't know what to say to this. If this was true, then he could learn a lot more. But was it worth it? For what would he be doing it? It was like the ghost of a whisper spoke in his ear _happiness_ it said. Maybe he could try, maybe he should try. He should give it a chance at least.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, before I start, I am really sorry for the late update. There are a few reason why, first, I didn't think University would be as stressful as it is. Second, I wasn't sure on how to continue on from the point I felt off. I had a general idea, but nothing specific. Thus, I want to thank Rebecca and Saskia for doing a brainstorming with me. Now I am full of new ideas and oh ho, you can be exited for what is coming. There is a lot planned : )

Also, I was wondering, I know Harry is still young but for the future, do you prefer Harry in a man x man relationship or man x woman? I am not sure if there will be romance yet, probably, but I was curious what you thought.

Enjoy!

Chapter 8

His head was pounding and pulsing. It was getting louder and louder and the noise was filling out his ears. The noise wasn't coming from the outside but rather from inside of him. But it wouldn't surprise him if it would have been loud enough to be heard by others. Harry had to close his eyes because the dim light in the car was getting too bright for him and worsened his headache. In this moment he was glad that L had left the car some time ago. He didn't want anybody to know that he had these episodes sometimes. He didn't want any help because they couldn't help them. They didn't understand. How could they? For almost everyone but him magic is just a fairy tale, a story told to kids before they go to sleep. Although, and thinking this not only his head hurt but also his heart, he didn't have any magic anymore, just some abstract and trouble causing rip-off of something irreplaceable. But now was not the time to drown in self-pity. He knew from experience that a vision will occur soon and that he could only push it away for so much at a time. Maybe he could time it so that he experienced it at night? He could try at least. Harry blinked away some tears which had formed without his consent in the corner of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate. Not now, not now, he repeated in his head like a mantra over and over again.

Harry didn't know how long he sat like this in the car but it seemed to work. The headache started to fade away and pulsed now in the back of his head. It had worked, for now but it will return, Harry knew. He opened his eyes again and the light wasn't too bright for him anymore. It also didn't hurt looking into it. He was glad.

L had left before the car had left London which made sense because he had to catch a serial killer after all. Before he was gone Harry had asked him what would happen to him. What L would do about the government. Harry knew that L probably had already solved the problem but he was curious as of how and what he did. L had looked at him with his piercing black eyes. Harry had felt as if he was dissected and analysed but no matter how uncomfortable or squeamish he felt under L's glare, he didn't move. He couldn't. L told him in this emotionless tone that Harry was to go to the orphanage and stay there for at least a week or two to determine if he fit in. If not, he would go and live with the foster family. Harry disliked the thought of going there, it just felt wrong. Hell, he was a grown man and even though he didn't look like it and honestly didn't behave like it at the moment, he wanted independence which he would most likely get at the orphanage.

While looking out of the window and looking at the nature outside, he wondered what L had conducted about him. Maybe he thought that he, Harry, was a little too detached from the murder of his family? That perhaps he should have shown more emotion, sadness, maybe anger? Maybe he thought it was weird and suspicious that Harry had fled the hospital, maybe the doctors had told him, no scratch that, L had read the medical reports about him? Was it unusual how fast he was healing? Definitely, Harry decided but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't want to and honestly was glad to be back to a healthy standard. Suddenly a memory resurfaced, he had totally forgotten about the therapist. In hindsight it probably had been stupid to tell him about the auras. What did they make out of it? He could only guess but he hoped it was not schizophrenia. That was a diagnosis which would lead to his downfall. L probably thought that he was crazy which he honestly couldn't deny. The war has left him a shadow, an empty shell of himself. It has taken years to fill the void with some kind of purpose. Now it was gone again. Maybe he should kill himself, Harry thought to himself quietly and sober. But that wouldn't lead to anything, Death would just put him into another body or do something worse. He felt trapped without an escape. He felt like the world or the whole universe was about to collapse onto him and all he could do was stand there, motionless.

The car smelled like leather and dust. Harry felt a little nauseous. He licked over his dry lips and wished he had some water. It seemed like only because water was out of reach he felt incredible thirty. He licked over his lips again and tried to relax. He needed to make a plan. He wanted to be able to stay at the orphanage. He needed to be as good as possible at whatever tests they were going to give to him, no holding back. Maybe this was his chance, maybe Death has set this up for him? What were the chances of running into the weird detective while trying to run away anyways? Not very big he guessed.

Suddenly the car drove slower or at least he imagined that the car drove slower. All of a sudden he felt nervous, this was it. What kind of first expression was he going to leave? Will the other kids like him? Or rather, will he like them? He was a good ten or more years older then them probably. At least mentally, emotionally he was just as crippled as them. Probably. The car stopped and thus proved Harry right, it had been lowing down. He peeked out of the window and his jaw dropped down. There was a really big Victorian style looking house. It had a lot of windows which were placed neatly next to each other in a row. Most of them had curtains in front of them but behind one window near the top he thought he saw a white haired child. It was gone again the next second. Maybe he imagined it?

Harry opened the door and got out of the car. A beautiful garden surrounded the house. There were a lot of flowerbeds. Although there weren't any flowers at this time of the year. A light layer of crystal white snow laid on top of everything and gave it a fairy tale like feeling. To Harry, it felt peaceful and the house radiated an aura of content. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in. The air smelled of snow and grass.

The next thing Harry noticed was that it was eerily quieted. Harry didn't know why but goosebumps formed on his arms. It was not only because of the cold. There was something to this house, something twisted but Harry couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't know why or how, the peaceful aura was still there. But it was like the creepy feeling was underneath it, hiding and Harry had just seen a glimpse of it. Harry had enough wartime experience to know that something wasn't right. A man walked out of the house. He was tall and had sliver hair which was starting to fade. The suit he was wearing looked expensive, as were the glasses, but in a settle way. He looked intelligent and well-mannered. Only a few steps away from Harry he came to a stop. Suddenly reminded of his small size again, Harry felt intimidated by the tall man.

"Hello young boy, my name is Roger Ruvie, I am the director of Wammy's House. But please, let us go inside, you look like you are cold", the man, Ruvie, introduced himself. His lips were pulled up in a slight smile. Harry didn't know what to think about him or how to categorize him. He wasn't sure if the small smile had been genuine or fake or if the director just pretended to care about him or really did.

Mr. Ruvie was taking the lead and walked in long but slow strides towards the maison. Harry shivered slightly, hopefully he wouldn't loose any toes to frostbite that would be a pity. He had to walk a little faster to keep up with Mr. Ruvie. They went up some staires and finally were inside. The front das was giant with a decorated door knob, it was a lion, how ironic. Inside, it was like walking against a wall of hot air. Not that Harry complained, it was actually really nice. Some tension fell of off him. He clenched up posture relaxed, now that he was getting warmer again.

"I will show you your room, you will be staying there for the first week or so, until we know if you will stay for longer or if we need to find you another home. We have high expectation for our protégés, but don't worry, if it is true what has been told about you, you will be able to meet the standards.", the man said as he lead Harry to a closet by the door. He opened the left door and pulled out a pair of child slippers.

"Here you go young man, we can't have you walk around bare feet, now can we?", he said in a friendly tone. Harry nodded and was glad to put something on his feet. The shoes were warm. Taken care of his most urgent problem, Harry looked around and his mouth dropped down, again. They were standing in an entrance hall. The celling was high and there was a chandelier hanging down from it. Up in front of them was a large open stairway. The floor was made out of dark wooden parquet flooring. All in all, everything looked very elegant and very expensive. What has he gotten himself into?

The director lead him up the stairs. Harry had trouble yet again to follow. The stairs seemed to get harder to climb by every step. The director reached the end of the steps before him and waited for him patiently. Then, they turned left and where in a long corridor with doors. All of them looked the same but had letters and numbers on them. Maybe theses where the first letter of their name? Before one of the doors the director came to a stop. On the door was a G and an empty space. You could see that there had been another letter before but Harry wasn't sure what it had been. Maybe a H or an A.

"This is your room, I will leave you to it. I will send somebody to show you around. I hope you will find your rooms sufficient. We will talk later again", he said and turned on his heel, walking away. Harry looked at the door with trepidation. This was going to be his home for the next several years. Provided that he will be allowed to stay of course. He hoped that that was going to be the case. Otherwise he will be disappointed.

He entered the room and took in the details. One side of the room, the left side was tidy and clean. There was a bed with white and blue lining, a desk with a chair and a small shelf above it. There was also a dresser. It looked meager and empty. The walls were bare and white. But Harry could see that had been posters hanging on the wall. He wondered who lived in here before him and why he was, in fact, not living here anymore. The other side of the room was a mirror image except for one thing, it was a mess. Books and loose papers were towering on the desk, the bed was unmade and Harry was pretty sure that there were dirty underwear and socks laying around. The drawers of that side's dresser weren't fully closet and it seemed that the clothes had just been stuffed in without care. Harry was certainly curious to meet his roommate. If his personality was as messy as his room? He hoped that they would get along, he needed a friend. Also, living with the enemy in one room is not that beneficial. But as the saying goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Harry was sure that it didn't meant sleeping with you enemy in one room but was meant in a more metaphorical sense but perhaps not.

He took a few steps further into the room and closed the wooden door behind him. It fell shut with a satisfying click. First, he walked to the bed and sat down. The mattress was firm but comfortably so. He could imagine himself to sleep here and also to sleep well. It felt good to know that he was finally able to sleep in a bed again after the months of being forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. It felt strange not to feel anything when thinking about the Dursley's death. He even felt a little gratitude. Maybe he was crazy after all and all the people who had shunned and made lies up about him were right. Although, he did feel pity for Dudley, he had still been young and thus able to change. Killing children was a little too harsh, at least in Harry's opinion. But if he knew one thing the best, it was that there were ruthless people out there. He had faced enough of them for at least a hundred lifetimes. There was no such thing as a happy ending, just cruel reality without an escape. He knew from experience.

There was a knock on the door. It was firm but not overly so. Harry looked up, frozen in place. The door handle was being pushed down and the door opened. A boy walked in. He looked young but was at least 10 but probably older. Maybe 12 or so. His most prominent feature was his red hair that hung down loosely. He wore glasses and his posture was slouched. This must be the one who was going to show him around, Harry thought to himself and tried to relax his tense body.

"Yo, I am Matt, I am here to take you on a little tour of the house. Do you feel up to it?", he asked while raising his hand for a brief moment as a greeting. He wore gloves, interesting. Maybe he was hiding something? His aura was genuine, curious and eager. He seemed like a pleasant person, as far Harry could tell. Thinking about the offer for a moment, Harry nodded and got off of the bed. Matt's glance moved up and down and stopped at his feet, he sighed.

"Let's start with your room. In the closet are a few basic clothes for you. They might be too big but will do for now" Matt went to the dresser and opened the first drawer. He took out something and threw it at Harry. Harry wasn't quick enough to catch it but was startled enough to flinch away and to close his eyes in expectation of the worse. Some thick socks smacked his cheek and just to then fall to the ground. Harry felt how heat creeped into this cheeks and that they were probably red now. He quickly picked up the socks and put them on. Then he slipped back into the slippers. Good thinking on Matts part.

"I am ready", he said softly and looked up. Matt nodded and opened up the door again. The hallway was empty and it was quiet. Harry wondered why, weren't there supposed to be children?

"Everybody had their afternoon activity or classed right now. That's why we won't see anybody till dinner. How old are you by the way?", Matt said as if he could read Harr's mind.

"I am seven. And you?", Harry answered and looked around curiously. There was not much to see, doors where lining the hallway. All of them where closed.

"I am twelve. These are the rooms for the students. On the next floor are classrooms and on the top floor are ateliers for the different artistries. Like music and drawing and stuff like that. There is also a computer room and the library. Downstairs is the cafeteria. You can eat breakfast, lunch and dinner there. Between classes is enough time to pick up a snack if you want one. You can also take a water bottle with you, if you'd like", Matt explained. He had lead Harry to the staircase again and stopped in his steps.

"Down the hall are the bathrooms, girls and boys are separated, naturally", he continued and then started walking again. Just seconds ago, Harry had nearly walked into the boy when he had stopped. But he was careful not to touch him. Matt's glance rested on him a second longer than necessary but then turned away and continued. They walked the stairs up. Harry was quiet, as was Matt. Harry was thinking, trying to take in every detail, the way the stairs were shaped, the wooden railing which run all along the side of the stairs framing it, the dim light coming from, yes were was it coming from, the large and high windows from which one could see over the garden which was huge by the way, and another building, the grey sky and the low hanging clouds, and last but not least, he took in the boy himself, Matt. Matt had intelligent eyes, walked as if nothing could ever bother him and had a caring voice. His aura was mostly grey, there was also a lot of white and some light blue and on top of it all was a muted orange and some purple. Harry decided that he liked him. His aura was telling him that Matt, although not enthusiastic to show him around, was still serious about it and not reluctant towards him.

"Oh and, just so you know, everybody is using a synonym instead of their given name. So do not, and I am serious, do not ever introduce yourself by the name you have right now. Another name has probably been already chosen for you. The director will probably will tell you later. I take it you haven't written the test yet?", Matt explained, ending in a question, while he threw a glance over his shoulder at Harry. He reached the next floor all while Harry was still a few steps behind him, trying to catch up. When he stood next to him, Harry tried to catch his breath. Stupid stairs and damn his child body. But he took the moment to process the just given information. So that would mean that Matt's name wasn't really Matt but could also be Hans-Wurst? Interesting, he wondered what it was and if he could choose his name. On the other side, Matt said that it already had been chosen for him so probably not.

"No I have indeed not written the test", he answered, still slightly out of breath. The stairs were more challenging then he thought. Maybe he could build up his physical capability? In order to do so, he must also eat well; Matt looked pretty healthy, it shouldn't be a problem. In addition, he needed to remind himself that he wasn't living with the Dursley's anymore. He was safe, he was taken care for.

"Okay, I assume you will write it tomorrow. No worries though, it will just provide information about your current level of education. You will always be able to improve afterwards. Oh and when you take a look here, these are the classrooms, there are twelve rooms, you must have talent to get lost here. But nevertheless, if you do get lost, just ask for help, everybody will be pleased to help you", Matt said. He let Harry peak into the corridor. Just more door and more silence. Matt started to mount the rest set of stairs. Harry groaned inwardly. More steps, great.

"You know, if you have questions, you are welcome to ask them. I won't bite", Matt said with a toothy smile. Harry returned it with a small smile of his own. Did he have any question? Yes, who wouldn't?

"You mentioned earlier that there were ateliers of some sort for other artistries. What kind of geniuses, I mean kids, are living here?", Harry asked a little shy, getting quieter in the end. Damn his child mentality.

"We have geniuses of all kind here. Not just scientists and book-smart ones, but also artists, musicians and athletes to name a few."

"Wow, that is impressive", Harry said and meant it. He had thought that this was going to be just for, well your typical type of genius? But Matt was right, you could excel in every matière. Harry felt instantly better even though he couldn't put his finger on why so.

"So, do you like videogames?", Matt asked suddenly out of the blue. Harry was surprised for a second. Then shook his head.

"No, I was never allowed. But I saw my cousin play some", he answered truthfully. He played with his fingers looking down.

"Hm, what a pity. I am bored", Matt said. Somehow this comment made Harry feel bad about himself. Was he himself boring? Where do these thoughts come from? A light headache returned. What a drag, hopefully this didn't mean that he would have a vision soon. That was absolutely the last thing he wanted in this situation.

"Let's go downstairs to my room. We can play some", Matt said. "It is probably time for dinner already anyways" Once again Matt lead the way downstairs. Why did there come all the way up here anyway just to go down again? But moving down the stairs was much easier then going up. At least in Harry's opinion. Matt didn't say anything causing Harry to stay quiet as well.

Back in the corridor with the sleeping rooms, the director walked towards them. His thinning out grey hair was shinning in the dim light. He was engaged in a document in his hands. He looked up briefly but when he spotted Harry and Matt, he stopped. He closed the folder and put it under his arm.

"Ah I see, enjoying the tour young man?", the director asked Harry. Harry just nodded. "Well, I wanted to see you anyways before dinner is going to start. Your synonym has been chosen. Do you want me to tell you?", he asked him. Harry secretly thought that he was doing that on purpose just to create more tension. It was working, he had to admit. He nodded and looks up expectantly. "You are going to be Crystal, your letter is C" with that, the director nodded in Matt's direction and hurried on. Matt grinned at Harry.

"Well Crys, lets get some dinner and meet the others."

What a strange name, Harry thought, he wasn't sure yet if he liked it.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey,

Thank you so much for the comments, they keep me motivated : )

Also, I put a hold on the whole romance-thing until Harry is a bit older.

Enjoy!

Chapter 9

The cafeteria was bigger than it looked from the outside. It was totally empty. On the right side, there was a buffet. The dishes where all covered by a silver lid. But Harry could tell that there will be pudding for dessert. The little bowls of pudding were put neatly in a rows next to each other. He had hoped for treacle tart actually. Maybe another day.

There were three long tables in the middle of the room. Every thing was already laid out, the plates, glasses and silverware. Everything was neat and in its place. There were even napkins with a light blue snowflake on it. Weird, but not as weird as the chocolate fountain standing in front of one seat in the back of one table. Who would need a chocolate fountain just for themselves? Harry wondered and was rather curious to see how the person looked like. Maybe the person was fat?

"Lets go get something to eat Crys, before the others will arrive. Then it'll be busy", Matt said and grabbed the plate right next to the one with the fountain. Harry copied him, choosing the plate next to where Matt's has been. He thought about what Matt had called him, Crys. He wasn't entirely sure yet what he thought about it, but it had a nice ring to it. It was a bit kitschy, a bit girly but how he saw it, the name wasn't suppose to mean anything. It wasn't suppose to be seen as the girls name but rather as the thing itself. The word "crystal" finds its origin in the ancient Greek word "krustallos" and means both "ice" and "rock crystal" at the same time. Some examples for large crystals are snowflakes, diamonds, and table salt. So maybe L thought he was cold, hard and salty? Harry chuckled inwardly at that thought. A smirk formed on his face. He kind of liked that thought. Why not? I mean, I have been a bit broody, haven't I?, he thought to himself.

"If you don't stop thinking and smiling to yourself, I wear I come over and punch you", Matt yelled across the room. Harry couldn't tell if its was a joke or if Matt was being serious. The boy was already half way through the buffet and his plate was loaded. In the right hand he held his overflowing plate, trying to balance it out, with the other hand gestured Harry to come over. Harry shook his head to get rid of the gripping thoughts, which only worked a little considering thoughts weren't a physical thing you could shake away, and then walked over.

There was just too much food to chose from. There was s little of everything. Vegetables, meat, rice, pasta. Harry felt overwhelmed, even though he really wanted to try everything, he settled for rice and vegetables. He knew this wouldn't upset his stomach. He grabbed a bowl of chocolate pudding as well, after Matt had told him that it would be gone otherwise, when the others would arrived. Matt already sat at his place eating and working his way through his mountain of food. Harry sat down next to him. He noticed that other people, or rather kids, started to walk into the room. They didn't look at him, not directly anyways. They sneaked little glances but also tried to ignore him at the same time. It was confusing. They apparently knew where they were sitting and just walked straight towards their seat and grabbed their plate. Harry wanted to ignore them, tried to at least. He concentrated on his food. It tasted really good, the vegetable was some kind of curry. The spiciness was just right, it burned lightly in his mouth but it tasted so good that you couldn't stop eating. Even though the food was good, Harry could just eat small bites. There were pins and needles on his neck from all the stares. He felt a little insecure. He was still wearing the stolen clothes which hung on him like he was a rag doll. Then paired with the slippers, he probably looked pretty ridiculous. Normally it wouldn't bother him, it never has in his old life. Considering that he wore Dudley's old clothes since he could remember. But somehow, it was bothering him now. He wanted to make a good impression, he wanted to be liked, he wanted to find friends. And there was also this childish body of his. Somehow every emotion he was feeling was put through a magnifying glass and therefore tripled in its intensity. Irrational not included.

"Don't pull a face. And eat up, you look tiny", said a voice on his right. Harry's head snapped up. This hadn't been Matt's voice. This voice had been cold, unbothered, uncaring which contradicted with what the person had said. The message clearly conveyed something caring, a little at least. That was the impression Harry got.

Next to Matt sat a blond boy with shoulder length hair. His aura was something Harry had never seen. It kept changing, it was angry red, happy orange, serious grey, lovely pink, jealous pus yellow and more at the same time. It was sad blue, misunderstood green and sickly green, it was pure white and then, then it was dark and twisted. The positive colours and emotions seemed to linger just for seconds before they were exchanged brutally by other, darker colours.

There was some fruit on his plate which he dunked into the chocolate fountain. Harry couldn't but rise an eyebrow. At the moment the blond held his finger into the chocolate and then sucked it off. When he noticed Harry starring he just grinned at him.

"This is by far better than the trash you are eating", he said and also looked at Matt.

"At least we won't get diabetes and die a premature death. Also, your teeth will rot" Matt answered nonchalant and smirked while he was eating some smashed potatoes.

"Well, I don't need glasses because I don't play videogames all day", the Blond shot back. Matt didn't lose his smirk and touched his glasses. Mello's ever changing aura lingered longer than usual at the amused orange. So this was all jokes and games for him, for Matt as well as it seemed.

"They are stylish, okay", he said while he was chewing. Harry looked at Matt a few seconds and had to agree with Matt. The glassed did suit him. Harry started eating again. The curry was getting cold but still tasted good. He wondered if he could cook something similar, he was a good cook after all. Had been at least.

"My name is Mello, don't eat my chocolate and then I could maybe tolerate you", Mello said to Harry. Harry looked up and nodded. When Mello kept looking at him expectantly he remembered that he needed to introduce himself as well.

"I am Ha- , I mean, my name is Crystal, but don't call me that". Harry said, glad that he didn't say his real name. Mello started laughing. He laughed loud and drew a lot of attention to himself. The kids around them grew quiet and stopped their conversations. Harry's cheeks grew warm and he ducked his head.

"That is good. L must have been in one of his moods. That is almost as bad as Mai", Mello pressed out between laughter. Harry wrinkled his forehead.

"What's so bad about Mai?", he asked confused. Mello pointed to a boy on one of the other tables. The boy looked rather mad. His brownish hair was ruffled and if he could shoot out lightning from his eyes, there would be some right now.

"Don't you dare to start this again, Mellow dough!", he cried out and then turned around, obviously with every intention to ignore the Blond.

Mello went quiet from one second to another. He cleared his throat and pointed his attention back to the chocolate in front of him.

"Anyway, did you write the test yet?", he asked. Harry shook his had. The test was mentioned rather often, too often for his taste. He grew a little anxious. He didn't study at all. What was when he failed? He answered his own question the next second, they would send him away. He was rather sure that this is were he was suppose to be, not some foster family.

"Well, I would wish you good luck but I don't think you could beat me or in fact, Matt", he said arrogantly. Harry looked up again, curious. Was there a ranking?

"Don't boast Mello when there is nothing to boast about. Or do I have to remind you that you lost your first place?", Matt said smug. Then he turned to Harry. "There is a ranking to measure our progress. Every discipline has its own ranking. There is an academic ranking but also a ranking for the athletes and the artistic gifted among us, musicians included. When you do the test, you will be given a rank. But don't worry, it isn't expected of you to excel right now", Matt explained in a friendly tone. Mello gave Mello a glare.

"Do you have any questions?", Matt asked. Harry thought a moment and started to eat his pudding. His roommate came to mind.

"Yes, who is going to be my roommate?", he asked. Matt slipped in his seat a bit uncomfortable.

"Your roommate is going to be Gray. Don't be intimidated when you meet him, he is a bit grumpy", Matt said reassuringly and smiled. But Harry didn't feel reassured at all, it was rather worrying. Maybe the chaos in his room derived from some kind of anger issues? He had time to worry later, thus he just nodded and pretended to be unphased.

"Who lived in my room before me?", he asked. The conversations around him went quiet again. Everybody was looking at him again, some with an expression of sadness, worry and, and yes, shame. There were also some expressionless faces. Matt grew uncomfortable again and couldn't look Harry in the eye.

"You don't need to worry about it right now. Maybe Gray will tell you, but not today. Now, how did you like the food?", Matt answered and the conversations started again. Nobody was looking anymore. That was highly suspicious, Harry thought. Also, a not so stumble way to distract him. He would play their game and figure it out on his own. He probably couldn't get any answers out of them right now anyways.

"Food is good. I like the chocolate pudding", he said, pretending to already have forgotten the conversation from before. Matt smiled at him. Mello had peaked up at the word chocolate and was now eyeing Harry's pudding. The expression on his face was hilarious, like he was looking at a half naked woman he lustered after. Only with pudding. Harry chuckled and quickly finished his pudding before Mello could get ideas and jump him.

* * *

He was laying on his bed. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried to. He was starring at the ceiling but couldn't see anything. It was dark and all he could make out were shadows. His headache had returned and know he felt nauseous again. The darkness also seemed to spin around him.

His roommate wasn't there yet, the bed beside him was unused. Well, at least at the moment, it looked everything but unused. After dinner, Matt had shown him back to his room. He had taken his pyjamas and took a shower. The warm water had felt like a blessing. The shower was divided into cabins. A fact he was glad for. This body, this alternative him, had many scars. Some scars he didn't even knew how he got them. Strangely, he still had the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He knew Voldemort couldn't have cursed him in this universe, so how did it sneak its way onto him? He wondered also how his parents died. Maybe it had been really a gas explosion or maybe the car accident the Dursleys talked about?

Harry turned on his left side and had now a good view on the door. Some dim light creeped in from under the door. Occasionally, there were quiet steps walking past his door. He wondered where his roommate might be and why Matt and all the others really had been so reluctant to tell him anything. At least he knows a name, Gray. And the person living here before him, he or she must have left in a horrible or sad way. Why else would they have reacted the way they did? Mysterious but also very suspicious.

As the door was opened Harry flinched but controlled his body just a few seconds later. He tried to lay as still as possible. The door creeped open and a person entered the room. He was tall and had dark hair. With the dim light he couldn't make out any features but he assumed that that had to be Gray.

Gray closed the door behind him, undressed himself and went to bed. During the process he left his clothes on the ground all around him. Then it was quiet. Harry almost didn't dare to breathe. He stare into the darkness in front of him. The silence was almost eerie and so thick, you could almost touch it. The light in the corridor was turned of. Now the darkness laid on him like a blanket. He didn't know how much time had passed when it started. This quiet weeping, the whimpering, the sobbing. He wouldn't have noticed it, if he was asleep. But because he was awake he became a witness of the weak moment his roommate had. Or was it a moment, maybe he cried himself to sleep every night?

Harry stayed awake, listened to the sobbing and stared into the dark when it had already died down. His heart arched. Then, he must have fallen asleep.

* * *

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Harry had a rude awakening. He sat up with a jolt and had almost collided with a boy. The boy looked at him, angry, sad, betrayed. He looked like he was about to strangle Harry any second. His aura was dark and red and twisted. It was misunderstood and grieving. Harry who still was confused, tired and a bit unfocused had to think quick.

"I am your new roommate, Mr. Roger gave me the room. I am sorry if I startled you", it sounded a bit lame, even in his own ears, but Harry couldn't come up with something better. What he assumed to be Gray, turned white in range. His fists were clenched.

"That bastard. He promised", said Gray to himself. " Promised nobody else would move him, that this would always stay his room", he almost screamed now. Harry felt a bit stupid to still be laying in bed but didn't want to attract Gray's attention more than necessary by getting up. He pulled his legs up and hugged his knees. Gray threw him one last glance, a rather mad one, and stormed out of the room, only dressed in underwear.

When Gray left, Harry could breathe again. It was like a stone was lifted from his ribcage. Anger directed towards him had never ended good, in both worlds. He learned that the hard way. He looked at his hands. There were so small. He doesn't remember ever being so small. He tried to think about what he had dream of. The could see a few glimpses in front of him, he tried to catch them but couldn't. They ran through his fingers like sand. He saw an empty room with a person in it and grabbed the picture in his mind, held onto it. The longer he thought about it, the more came flashing into the front of his mind. Sirius, he had dreamed of Sirius. His dear godfather, the only father figure he had ever had. Good Sirius, funny Sirius, mischievous Sirius, dead Sirius. He could still remember his encounter with him on the streets weeks ago. That Sirius hadn't been his Sirius. But, did that mean that every person that existed in his old universe also existed in this one? It would only make sense. Maybe in this universe the people developed how they would have had without magic. That would have explained Sirius in the expensive looking suit. He came from a rich family after all. But why didn't he recognize him? He and his father, James, had been friends. Because Hogwarts didn't exist. And if it did, it wouldn't be a boarding school for witches and wizards. Simple as that.

Harry's heart arched but he pushed the feeling away. He had already mourned for Sirius, no reason to rip the old feelings open again. The Sirius he met had been the Sirius he had known anyways, at least that was what he kept telling himself to keep him from emotionally collapsing.

To distract himself, Harry got up and opened the closet. He pulled out random clothes and got dressed. The clothes did fit better than the previous ones but were still too big. They hid his small frame, he liked it. It looked like they were too big on purpose. On his way out he had to step over several things laying around.

The corridor was empty. He forgot to check the time but he was sure that is was early in the morning. He made his way to the bathroom. There were some kids inside, they ignored him. Harry did the same even though he could feel their glances probing him again. First, he went to the toilet. After he relieved himself, he went to one of the sinks and brushed his teeth. The only toothpaste there was, was one of this stupid ones for kids with the weird taste to it. Harry preferred to one tasting like mint. It always made him feel more fresh. There After, he washed his face. When he looked up and into the mirror, his face looking back at him smirked at him, mocking him. Harry blinked rapidly, did he imagine that? He shook his head and looked into the mirror again and the face looking back this time bore the same surprised and confused expression as he did. But then, the mirror image started to turn and twist and change. The face looking back at him now was wrong. It looked twisted and dark, it was him, he could tell. But it was another version of himself. He looked pale and his eyes laid in dark sockets. His lips were pale and his eyes, they were red. This alternative him smiled at him, showing him his pointed teeth, he was mocking him again.

Harry stumbled back, tried to get away from the mirror as fast as possible. His mouth was open, gaping for air. He fell onto his butt, it hurt a little. He quickly got up and did the next best thing that came to mind, he ran out of the bathroom. Just a few steps outside, he collided with something soft and fell down again. From the ground, he looked up with big eyes and looked at the person he had run into. It was a girl with short brown hair and deer like brown eyes. Freckles caressed her cheeks and nose.

"You seem to be in a hurry, everything alright?", she asked and smiled at him as if it had been her fault that he dumped into her. Harry could just nod and hastily scrambled to his feet.

"Do you want to walk with me to the cafeteria? You are new, aren't you?", she asked him and smiled again. It was a genuine smile, one of those kind you couldn't fake. She waited till Harry had collected himself and padded himself down, then she started walking. "My name is Bonne, I am an artiste", she said, trying to do some small talk. "How about you?"

"My name is Crystal, Crys is enough. I don't know what I am yet, but maybe a linguist?", he answered as they reached the stairs. It was strange to introduce himself with such a weird name. he could understand why Mello had laughed the night before.

"How interesting. Well, I guess you will take the test today then, good luck!", she said. Harry smiled a little at her. Suddenly, her face blurred in front of his eyes and he felt dizzy again. His head started to hurt and he knew that he would have a vision soon. Damn, damn Death especially, that bastard. Harry tried to push the feeling away and ignore it, but it was getting increasingly harder. Maybe if he was lucky the vision will occur after the test. Hopefully some food will help.

They walked quietly the whole way. When they reached the cafeteria, Harry asked: "What do you paint?" Bonne looked at him a second as if lost in thoughts. She smiled, she seemed to do that a lot. Her aura matched that.

"I draw people, maybe I will draw you one day", she said and laughed a little in the end. Then she opened the doors and walked to the buffet.

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet affaire. There were many kids already awake and occupying the seats. Harry got some fruit and two pancakes with marmalade and sat down. He chose a seat far away from anybody else, he wanted to collect his thoughts before he encountered more people. He started eating his food. Matt had told him that he would meet him quarter to 8 at the entrance of the cafeteria, to show him to the room he would take the test in. Harry felt excited but also anxious. He knew that he could be good, there has to be at least one advantage to be stuck in a child's body. Between bites, he looked up and spotted a clock on one of the walls. It was half past 7. He still had time.

There were thermos jugs distributed equally on every table. He reached for one, desperately hoping for coffee. When he purred some into his cup, he was disappointed. It was just tea, what a drag. Well, he did like tea, but coffee would have been better. Harry got distracted when some new people entered the room. He looked at them, they looked different from the others but he couldn't put his finger on it, he couldn't tell what was different. They appeared to be a closed group. Four boys and two girls. They moved as if they were one. He would have to look out for them, he could tell.

Harry turned around when he felt the picks and needles in his neck again. Somebody was staring at him. He looked around, it hadn't been the group, he let his glance sweep over the heads of the kids until he met another pair of eyes. They belonged to an older kid, big for his age. But what intimidated him the most was his aura. It was deep red, it looked mad. The boy himself wore an emotionless expression. Oh boy, he could tell that there will be trouble.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello,

Long time no see? Hehe, I know I have been gone for a while for a few reasons. First, university. Second, I got some critic which is nice of course but it demotivated me. Also, it showed me that maybe I should do some more explaining about my story. I will do that after this little announcement. What motivated me to write was all the new Followers and Favourites and I was like "… could it be? People liking my story?" so I thought to put out this chapter. It is a little different, let me warn you. Also: **Trigger warning in this one. Mention of Suicide**. There are also some other perspectives, I hope you like it. Also tell me if you mind the other perspectives or if it is okay like this?

To the explaining:

 **1) Death**

So in this story one can easily get the impression that Death is a pretty cool guy. Well, wrong. My thought process goes like this: Death is probably pretty deceitful and out for his own advantage. Now Harry comes along, lalalala, bam, "Master of Death". Hm, what does Death do? Give Harry a pretty useless body in a different world without magic so that he knows at every time where Harry is and what he is doing. Also he didn't explain a lot about the job, did he? No, he didn't, he is still out there, doing his thing while Harry his "Enjoying" his new life.

 **2) Harry**

So some people complained (I am not exactly sure right now, but along the lines of: ) that Harry is too broken, his decisions are irrational and stuff like that. My explanation for this is, that even though Harry might not recognize it right now, but being in a child's body has consequences, like being a child again. Children have a different thought process, different hormones and are in fact not grown ups. Otherwise why do you think there is a different law for minors? So even though Harry doesn't recognize that he behaves more childish he does. That is also why I didn't write it in the story because it is mostly out of his perspective. He thinks he is the grown up of the old world when he is not.

Is there anything else you don't understand? Just ask, I am happy to answer your questions.

Now, enjoy the new chapter.

Chapter 10

The backroom was darkly lit. The lightbulb was old and the orange light couldn't reach every grey corner of the haunted room. Open metal shelves framed the walls. Some of the parts were coated in dark red rust. They were filled with odd trinkets. A collection of water glasses, most see through, some blue, all covered by dust and filled with dead flies. Walnut shells and books with yellow pages, broken metal shards and sunglasses, copper wires and plastic keys and foremost everywhere, little play figures. Red and yellow ones, some black and purple ones also. Only the blue ones were missing.

On the ground laid a dirty yellow mattress with weird dark stains on it. On top of it was a old pillow and a ratty blanket. Limbs spread like a starfish laid a man tangled in the blanket on it. He was staring at the ceiling with a stupid smile on his face. His teeth were an odd white and his face had spots on it. Like he had been cooking and the tomato sauce splashed everywhere. Or he shook the ketchup bottle but didn't screw the lid on very tight. The man, he was in a thrill of ecstasy. He felt fulfilled and balanced. His pulsing urges, his tangled thoughts they were gone. Again. Finally. In he couldn't remember how long it had been since he had slept through a night for once. On his lips he could still taste the coppery and salty residue of the last session that brought release to his mind. When he closed his eyes he could see empty dull eyes. And he could breathe again. Now already he dreaded the day he had to leave his safe place, the place he could retreat to, the place that was the only home to him he had ever known.

He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something amiss. Sure, he felt mentally released, he felt content and cozy. The tension was not leaving his body. He was tense, ready to fight or flight or fly away. He wasn't sure why he felt like this, didn't everything go according to plan? He thought back. Everything had been perfect, he had planned every single detail. Everything had been like it had been in his fantasy. Did he leave a trace? Did he oversee anything? In his mind he went over everything. And again and again and over and over again just to start anew.

Then it hit him like a lightning bolt putting his body under painful electric tension. He bolted up right on his bed. If you could call it a bed. Eyes wide, mouth oven, hands digging in his scalp and pulling his hair. He let out a gasp and then a pant and what followed was scream that sounded so animalic people how would have heard it, wouldn't have believed anything else than it coming from an animal.

"Oh shit, the boy", he said raspy into the empty room. Nobody heard him. Nobody cared. The tangled thoughts returned. The demanding urges wanted to be pleased. He thought he had had more time.

* * *

Writing exams was easy when the results don't matter at all. Writing exams was easy when the results were semi-important but not all there was. But writing exams when your whole future was depending on them? Not that easy anymore.

The tests Harry was writing were of the last kind. He wanted to do well, to be allowed to stay in this weird place. He didn't want to be ward of the system, to be helpless. The stress he put on himself was almost the hardest thing about this situation. If he screwed up he would be kicked out, sent to a family as a foster child and he heard his uncle rant about those. Even though he knew subconsciously that almost everything coming out of this uncle's mouth was utter bullshit, this kind of stuck with him. He didn't know why. And here, here he could learn, get to know new things. He would have a higher education and a better chance later in life.

The test questions varied from every topic one could imagine. In every part the questions got gradually harder and harder. For the Math potion he had a good feeling. He had been required to study Arithmancy in his unspeakable training. Even though he hadn't enjoyed it all that much he wasn't bad at it. And Arithmancy was just complicated Math. During his studies he regretted choosing Divination as his elective in third year. He should have listened to Hermione but then again, he should have listened to Hermione a lot more times than he did. Thinking of Hermione recalled memories of her and memories of her hurt. A lot. He pushed the thought and the memories away quickly before they became too distracting.

Literature was not bad either considering he read only a few of the classics. And the ones he read was during his here-time with the Dursleys in the library. The wizard community was just so ignorant and deemed anything muggle unworthy. He was not entirely certain but he imagined the people creating this test didn't want to know about "The Tales of Beedle the Bard", "Merlin the Wise" or "Morgana's Secret". Only a thought though. Thus Harry only managed to get through about a third of this part.

The next big portion was about science. Physics was as easy as Math had been. Chemistry not so much in comparison. One might think it is similar to potions or, god forbit, cooking, which is definitely not true. But then again, if it were, he had been a total failure at potions. At least when Snape was around and when he was not, he hadn't been much better. Snape had been enough to kill any passion he had ever possessed about this field of magic. But he wouldn't mind some liquid luck right now. Biology was a whole other thing because it was not about mathematical formulas at all. Good thing he read up on it in the library in the desperate attempt to understand his new powers. It hadn't helped, go figure. Harry was up to par with all the different processes within the human body and also its anatomy. There was so much more to biology than the human body. Evolution? Yes, he was familiar with the different theories over the time and foremost Darwin. Genetics? Very interesting. Botanic? Similar to herbology but not his strong suit. Ecology? Also very enjoyable study topic but he didn't read up on it. Now, all this questions about how fish, birds, amphibia and insects breathe? There was some common knowledge but not much, another thing he blamed the Wizard world for.

Philosophy was something he excelled in, he was sure. There were a few philosophers he didn't know of and thus not what their theories were. The largest portion of this part was about Kant, someone Harry secretly admired. His works are confusing and not easy to read but once you can get past it, a whole new world opens up for the mind. Harry's favourite quote was "Sapere aude".

Then there was a part about history. He didn't do as good as he wanted to do. Which was due to the fact that he was most familiar with Wizard history and he thought maybe if he wrote about the rise and fall about a Dark Lord or a Goblin war, they would show him to a really nice cozy room with white rubber walls. Really tempting thought but maybe for later. The most important dates he knew although.

Spanish, German, French, Italian, Polish, Japanese, Mandarin, Latin, Greek, ancient Greek and some more languages Harry didn't recognize. Spanish he knew a little. He was pretty proficient in German and French. In Latin and ancient Greek he excelled. These were the two languages he needed the most as an Unspeakable. There were commonly used in old magical readings. Sometimes the readings were also written in Gaelic. Harry adapted and picked up some of the Scottish Gaelic. He was not very good but he knew some.

Some other questions confused him. They were asking if he did any sports? Well aside from running away from Dudley's Gang, he supposed not, except Quidditch was a thing here. Did he play an instrument? Well, he could make people sing with the right spell but Harry thought they wouldn't appreciate this answer. Could he draw? As an answer he drew a cat which looked more like a hybrid between a horse and rabbit. Charming.

The last few questions were different. A personality test, how existing. There were ink painting, at least he thought that was what they were, and he had to say what they were representing. In most of them he saw blood, murder, dust and dark haunted figures. How troublesome, maybe he should lie? He didn't want to present himself as mentally ill. In the end, he mixed his answers, some true, some more harmless.

Harry sat in an empty room. The chair was not comfortable but he could manage. In front of him were his test papers. He was done. Hopefully it had been enough

* * *

Harry was back in his room. On his bed laid a stack of clothing. Some shirts, some T-Shirts, pants, pyjamas, socks and underwear. They looked all new and smelled freshly washed. He put them away in his new closet. The closet still looked empty but he already owned more clothes and also clothes of more value than he had ever gotten from the Dursleys. Which was not a hard task to succeed in but it still felt nice.

On his desk laid some notebooks with some pens and pencils. He sat down on the chair and opened one of the notebooks. The paper was smooth and bleach white. It was a heavy kind of paper. This was a notebook you considered buying every time you went to the store even though you have five at home which were only partly used but you want it anyways because the paper invited being written on it.

The pen looked fancy. It was a black roll ball pen. Opening the cover, Harry wrote his name on the first page. First he wanted to write his old name, but then he corrected himself in the last second. In plain letters he wrote Crys. He thought the name was strange, but it was a name like anybody else's. Maybe he should be glad not to be named Mai or Bonne? He wondered, what should he write into the notebook? He didn't know, so he opened a desk drawer and put the notebook away.

Suddenly the door banged open and against the wall. The loud noise startled Harry and he felt out of his chair. Once again his body thought he would get a beating now. How annoying. On the way down he fell awkwardly, banging his head on the desk.

"Ouch", Harry moaned reaching up to where he had hit his head but accidently also hitting his hand on the desk. He could hear the sound of his hand hitting the desk but also something else. A clicking sound, curious.

"Oh right. It's you", said his roommate. Gray looked a little ruffled, his hair was messy like he had been outside and the wind had messed with it. Also his cheeks were flushed but he didn't wear any outdoor clothing like a coat. He looked around, his glance lingering a little bit longer right above Harry. Then he threw a last hateful glance his way and turned around, throwing the door shut behind him. Harry was left behind puzzled. That was weird. He wondered if his roommate is ever going to calm down. His head already stopped buzzing but his hand still hurt a little. He turned his head a little, looking at the desk. What had that sound been?

The desk looked normal on the first glance. One of the pencils had rolled off the table due to the jerking motion caused by Harry's head. Harry got onto his knees, now on eye level with the tabletop. He inspected it with his eyes and drove his hands along it. There, there was a little rising in the wood. Harry pushed hard and a secret drawer popped open in the tabletop. Harry fell on his bum. He was surprised but also felt a little smug. So he didn't imagined the clicking sound after all.

In the secret drawer was a notebook. It was the same as his notebook, the same cover only did it looked well used. The pages were a little yellow on the sides and looked crumbled. Harry pulled it out, it was heavy in his hands. He opened the top. On the first page it said simply "A".

* * *

I am a little older than the other kids. Not that it bothers me, I like to think that it gives me an edge. Not every genius is automatically grown up, especially these little shitheads.

This is the first time I can feel okay that my mother is dead. Suicide. Haunted me a long time. Now I even feel glad. I can be in this program, develop and one day even might become a detective. Not any detective, no, THE detective. They expect me to do better than L. I really want to, I feel like I can do it. It will take a lot of me, I know.

Is this the life my mother had wanted for me when she killed herself? I don't know, but somehow she must have thought that I would be better off without her which is so not true. Figuring out why she did it, it took up a lot of time. I never came to a sufficient answer.

Tomorrow will be a test to determine our ranking. I am going to beat them all. I will, I hope I will.

 **..-..**

I am on fourth place in the ranking. I feel so disappointed. I know I could have been better, I know I should have made it count. These shitheads Mello, Matt and this retard Near are in front of me. The way they looked at me, like I was worth nothing. I need to be better.

My mother would have wanted me to be better. She would have wanted the best for me, the best OF me.

 **..-..**

Today we discussed a case. We should come to a solution on our own. Mello laughed at me because my solution was too "simple". In that moment I wanted to wipe that smug grin of his face so bad. Sometimes murderers do think simple, sometimes it is not some kind of mastermind. What an idiot. His solution wasn't right either.

I have trouble sleeping. Every time I close my eyes I think that I am wasting time. And when I think about how I am wasting time and that I could be studying or reading through old case files, I get anxious. When I get anxious I get stressed and I can't breathe anymore. Then I can't sleep because my thoughts are circling black holes and I have to take care to not fall into them.

 **..-..**

We have someone new in the Program. G, but we call him Gray because he always looks so sad and it gets him riled up. And, he is my roommate. Everybody has a roommate, I didn't. I do now. I don't want to share my room with someone. Now I can't read all night, or maybe I should and he will change rooms.

Matt was caught stealing a cigarette. I thought he would get in trouble but he said he needed it to keep his mind sharp and they just let him be. What a drag, I wanted him to get into trouble. I hate cigarettes.

 **..-..**

I couldn't sleep again. I pretended to be asleep, but I wasn't. More like I couldn't. Gray probably thought I was asleep because I could hear his muffled cries and sniffles. What a drag. Does he think he is the only one who has a reason to cry here? Can't he shut up? It drags my mood down as well.

Tonight I also thought about mom again. Maybe I should do it for her? She sacrificed herself. No, I shouldn't think like that. She left me. I needed her and she is just gone. It is so selfish.

 **..-..**

I am on the fifth place of the ranking. I thought after being a while on the fourth place my way would be up not down. Damn it, my competitors are working harder than me. I need to work harder as well, what I am doing is not enough!

Gray won't stop crying. I can not stand it anymore. No wonder he has these bloodshot eyes all the time. Well, I guess most of us have them, it seems insomnia is common among geniuses. But I swear, if he doesn't stop, I will make him stop.

 **..-..**

We had another case study today. I was the only one who got it wrong. I was so embarrassed. Am I too stupid? Am I not enough? I can't, I can't do it anymore. The director talked to me today. After the ranking was determined. He told me that I needed to improve or they would let me go. I don't want to go. I don't want to go back! This is wrong, this is not how it is suppose to go.

I can't eat anymore. Food feels like sand in my mouth and when I want to swallow it, it is like I am trying to swallow stones. I try to eat something nonetheless.

Gray looks down. I feel sorry for him. He is even further down the ranking than me.

 **..-..**

Tonight I confronted Gray about the crying. He looked shocked. He didn't know that I had been awake the whole time. He tried to downplay it but I didn't let it go.

He and his little sister lived with his grandparents. His little sister went missing, was never found. Then it was just him living with his grandparents. Then he came here. I hugged him. Then I told him to shut up at night. He even smiled at me. I smiled back.

 **..-..**

Wammy's house is changing. We are not the only Program here anymore. More and more kids are coming to stay. I am not quite sure what to think of it. Some of them are not even geniuses in the common sense. There is this boy, he is an excellent swimmer and this girl, she plays the violin like Mozart. I even lost a tear listening to her.

This change gives me hope because that means that Wammy's house is not solely for L's successors anymore but also for other children. Maybe they let me stay even when I fail?

 **..-..**

Today I came to a realisation about my mother. I know why she committed suicide. It was not about me. It has never been the whole time. It was about this world. It is so cruel and rotten inside, if you don't make it, you die. She just died a little earlier than others. She was so brave going on for so long. Who can blame her.

Tonight I cried for the first time in a very long time. Gray slept through the night for the first time in a long while.

 **..-..**

Gray smiles at me now. He respects me, looks up to me. I feel guilty, I feel like a fraud. He shouldn't look up to me, he should look up to L. L is one of the, if not the greatest Detective ever known to mankind.

My ranking dropped again. I laid awake all night. I couldn't eat anything. I want to close my eyes and be far away.

 **..-..**

L talked to us today. He is so blunt and honest. I appreciate that, I can respect that. It still hurt and I still regret although.

He called out the names in front of the whole Program who needs improvement. He also said my name. Mello had this smug smirk on his face again. I was so angry. So disappointed it hurts. I am so angry I even crumble this very paper I write on.

 **..-..**

Now I understand why my mother left this earth to go somewhere else. She couldn't take this constant pressure from every one every time constantly anymore. I get her now, I really do. It is like she was swimming through water but she was already so far down that she couldn't swim against all the water mass anymore. Air is running thin. And from down here it is impossible to see the light up there.

Tonight I wanted to talk with Gray. I opened my mouth to say something, he had looked at me expectantly but nothing came out of my stupid mouth. I probably looked like a fish gaping.

 **..-..**

I have risen a rank. I don't even feel the joy anymore. It doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

And, it is too late. I have already made up my mind. Poor Gray, I hope he will find somebody he can trust.

 **..-..**

Mello had smirked at me, he expected me to do something or say something back like I usually do. It didn't phase me at all. Because I knew that it will be over soon. I like this feeling of nothingness. I just walked right passed Mello like I didn't see him at all.

Later on he tripped me, he wanted a reaction out of me but he didn't get one. I fell and banged my knee. The pain was only half as bad because I knew, I knew I wouldn't need to feel pain anymore soon.

I was walking on clouds the whole day. Nothing could get to me because I knew it was only temporary.

 **..-..**

Mello has gotten Matt involved. Today Matt had followed me everywhere and blew cigarette smoke into my face because he knew it bothered me. I acted like he was not there. Nothing can phase me. Everything has an expiration date.

Mello cornered me, asked me why I was acting weird. I told him to figure it out himself because he was a true genius after all, was he not? He was so riled up. He gripped my shirt, wanted to punch me. Gray came around the corner and got involved.

Even though I didn't feel anything these past days, Gray stepping up for me, something inside me was moved. My focus shifted. I am uncertain. Should I? Gray would be devastated but, this was my life after all? Couldn't I do with it as I pleased?

 **..-..**

Today I felt dizzy. The whole day. Everything seemed blurry. I don't care anymore, not even Gray. He will handle it. It is like walking through water.#

 **..-..**

Mello said he had figured it out. I am scared. Then he told me I had an eating disorder and that I hadn't been eating this whole week. I was so relieved, I laughed and couldn't stop. I laughed and laughed and even have to chuckle now.

Soon. Soon it will be over.

 **..-..**

I thought about leaving a letter behind. I decided against it. These geniuses will know why I did it. A letter is just something to hold onto. Meaningless words to make it easier for loved ones. I had none.

My mother didn't leave a letter either. I guess she didn't care then.

 **..-..**

It had been a long time since Gray had cried last during the nights. Maybe he will start soon again.

Tomorrow.

 **..-..**

This is the last time I write into this notebook. How strange it feels to know to be no more in just a few minutes. How strange to imagine a world without yourself in it. Will it stop? No, of course not. The world with never stop, for no one. It will go on and on and on. It will turn around the same things over and over again. Power, Money. Power, Money. Money, Power. I will leave nothing behind. There is no one to moan my death. It is good like this.

My last words, well, there shall be none. Or maybe, I have a treasure hidden in…

 **..-..**

* * *

He laid awake at night. His eyes wide open unable to close them. They were dry and already burning he imagined the red veins in them and how bloodshot they would like tomorrow. He didn't care. He couldn't possibly close them. If he were to close them, he would see. How ironic it sounded but he couldn't handle to see the images anymore. When people tell you that the past would come back to haunt you, they were telling the truth.

 _The body was hanging from the ceiling, slowly turning circle after circle. Then changing direction and turning again. Dark shadows laid heavily on it's face. Purple, puffy, eyes spilling out of their sockets._

Gray swallowed even though his throat was as dry as sandpaper. One would think that it didn't hurt anymore, that it could not possibly hurt anymore. It did. He thought, he thought he had trusted him! He failed him, he was a failure. He turned his head. The new kid laid on his bed. His things spread on a desk, in a closet that was not his. It made him so angry. How can he just lay there looking so innocent. How can he sleep? Did he not know? Did he not care? Gray wanted to jump up and strangle him till his face was also purple, puffy and the eyes spill out of their sockets.

Instead, Gray turned over, facing the wall. He had no tears left. Soon they would kick him out. Soon he would have to leave because he was not performing anymore. He was not considered a genius anymore. Sure, the director had given him time to cope, but how can he cope when it was his fault? If only, if only he had been there earlier. If only he had done… done something. If only.


	11. Chapter 11

Hello everybody!

I hope you are doing alright, I am pretty exhausted. Even though I don't have Uni right now it is like I have thousand things to do but no time. Well, you have to thank the treadmill for this chapter. I always get so bored running and I thought about this story and suddenly I got so much motivation! I hope you like it, as always, constructive criticism is appreciated : )

Also, do you like the different perspectives? I kinda enjoy writing the killer… weird

Chapter 11

It was late afternoon and although the sun was shining lazily the street lights were already on giving off a gloomy orange light. The wind was bitingly cold and it left exposed skin in an angry red. In almost every single house of the street was light. Families sitting together, drinking tea and eating cake. Maybe even leftover cookies from Christmas? All, except for one. This house war dark and even though everything said that people lived there, it had an air of something sinister. A car was parked in the driveway; the mailbox was so full, that letters were sticking out of it. News papers were pilling up on the doorway; a forgotten cup was placed on a garden table. A window blind was flapping in the wind, again and again against the window's glass; the garden was looking wilder than the other ones surrounding it.

He was making his way towards the house, his dress shoes clapping on the asphalt indicating that someone important was making their way on it. He came to a halt in front of the house. For a second he let himself slip, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply in pleasure. He let out a silent sigh. To him, it smelled like frosty air, grass and delicious red blood drawn from gruesome phantasies. He looked at the familiar door, how much has he enjoyed it. The Dursleys just squealed so delightfully once he had slit their throats open and had them bleeding out like pigs. The so red blood spilling over the floor, leaking through the carpet and adoring the décor. He loved his little acting scene in the beginning, fooling those stupid families. He made a step towards the house. No, the boy wasn't going to be in there, how foolish of him to assume that. He should continue with what he had initially planned. So, even though it was hard, the house was just so hypnotising, he turned way and made his way to a neighbouring house instead.

There was light in this house. The garden was tidy, no forgotten mail, no forgotten cups. He stepped a little harder than necessary on the "Welcome" doormat and rang the door bell. It gave off one of these annoying, pseudo cheering ring tones. One that someone had to install and thus actively decided upon it. He hated the family already. The corners of his mouth pulled up, he wrinkled his eyes to seem sincere. To him, his face felt like a wax mask, he had to forcefully engrave a smile into it. But he knew that it looked good that it looked real. He had practiced in front of a mirror.

The door was pulled open. He noted that it swung to the inside. A woman stood there, she looked grey. Her hair was mouse brown but could also have been grey. Her skin was grey, her eyes dark. Around her mouth were wrinkles from pursing the lips so much. She wore a misshaped dress that she might have knitted herself.

"Yes hello, how can I help you?", she asked gruff. He could see her eyes wandering over his appearance, over his neat hair, his white teeth, the suit to his watch and then to his dress shoes. When she looked up again, she smiled, suddenly a lot friendlier.

"I am sorry for the disturbance, I was just wondering if the Dursleys have moved? I am an old friend of the family and was concerned when nobody answered the door", he said smoothly, still smiling. The car in the driveway, the overflowing mail, the forgotten cup.

"Ah, such an unbelievable thing that happened. Yes, really unbelievable and terrible. The Dursleys were murdered, what murdered. No! Slaughtered, in their sleep, so horrible. But I saw it coming, these people, they were just too naïve! Petunia, may she be with god, she was getting into every ones business. I know you are not supposed to talk ill about the deceased, but one day it had to come back to her! And Dudley, he was so young!", she wanted to continue, but the man cut her off. His smile has gotten a painful edge. Her shrill voice hurt in his ears but he didn't miss a single word. Now, looking at the grey woman in front of him, only one word came to mind: Pitiful.

"Is that so? I am deeply sorry learn this turn of events. And what is about the other boy? Their…", he let his sentence trail out on purpose, waiting for the pitiful grey woman to complete it for him.

"Their nephew? Strange little boy, Petunia said that he was criminal and overly bad behaved. Something he supposedly got from his mother and father, poor Petunia and Vernon. Couldn't get the bad genes out of him. He survived. So bizarre, apparently he had been abused. Can you imagine?", she said and did something strange. She paused and her forehead wrinkled as if she was in deep thought. The man doubted that she was capable to anything other than gossip.

"Yes, very bizarre indeed. Where is the boy now?" he asked. He couldn't keep his excitement out of his voice, the expectant tension. He could feel a new smile being graved into his wax mask. It was a shark like grin, predatory and dangerous. The woman in front of him, she shifted her weight from one leg to another, pursing her lips, knitting her eyebrows together. The man didn't think she noticed herself but she stepped back a little.

"I am sorry, I don't know. You should leave Mister", she said and tried to shut the door. Before she could succeed, a shoe was placed between the door and the door frame.

" Nah nah nah, we wouldn't want to be unfriendly, now would we?", he said, letting his shark grin widen. The grey woman pushed against the door even though it clearly wouldn't shut. She opened her mouth, her upper body tensed up, she pushed out a single letter, "H", but the man was faster. His rough hand encircled her frail neck -oh how easy it would be to press a little harder-

"Now listen to me woman, tell me everything you know or you won't go back into that house alive", he hissed, keeping his voice low. He was sure, she could see madness sparking in his eyes. The foolish woman tried to move, push him away with her sausage fingers. In response he just pressed a little harder. A gurgling noise exited her mouth which was open and gapping like a fish. He let loose again so she could speak.

"His name is Harry Potter, he is seven years old. He was brought to a hospital, they weren't sure how grave his injuries were but they were. In the newspaper it said that he would be giving into foster care. I don't know more, I swear!", she said squealing and lungs fizzing. He believed her. For a moment he considered, looked at her, at the pitiful state she was in, the teary eyes, the red face, the trembling hands. Then he brought up his other hand. Both hands were now placed on her head –"No please, please stop"- Crack. Her body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. She hit the floor with a stump noise. He looked at her, he felt whole for a moment, what a blissful sight, seeing the live fading out of her eyes. It was his favourite moment. Or maybe when they pleaded with him? He couldn't decide.

There was nothing more for him here. He turned around swiftly, turning on his heels. Dress shoes clapping on the asphalt indicating that someone important was making their way on it towards London.

* * *

The library was dimly lit, sufficient enough so you could read but not annoyingly bright. It smelled off old paper and dust. It was still dark outside and thus no light was shining through the windows. It was a dark night, not even the moon was shining or the clouds were covering it. The shelves stood tall and stuffed to the brim in neat lines filling the whole hall. Harry was sitting on a small table in the corner of the library. With him, he had his notebook and a pen. He switched on the little silver lamp standing on the desk.

He had discovered it this morning when he woke up, something strange, something that shouldn't be there. His roommate had still been asleep, snoring ever so softly. He himself had taking a long while to fall asleep and when he did, it had been fitful and filled with nightmares. It seemed the entries he had read awoke memories within him he had wanted to hide. It had taken a moment, waking up in sweat, breathing harsh and a scream stuck in his throat. Then, tears stuck in his eyes. Remembering where he was, who he was right now had been hard.

He starred at the ceiling, his thoughts racing and running in circles. It was strange to know something so intimidate about another person, about A and Gray. He wondered if anybody ever found that book before him, if he had been the first one to read the words of a dead person. So odd, he felt like he knew A, even if it was just a little. He knew of his past, his struggles and his final moments. And know, he knew a dead person. In his life before he knew many dead people, he was accustomed to it. Before reading the private notebook he had been so content to become part of this orphanage but now, he wasn't so sure anymore. Gray turned in his sleep, the blankets rustled. When he, if he ever found out that Harry knew, that he knew about his past. He would be so angry, but now Harry understood. Before, he had asked himself if it had been something he had done wrong, but in reality, Gray was just fucked up. Understandably so.

When he had gotten up his notebook had been open on his desk, his pen lying next to it as if he had just written into it. Expect, it hadn't been him but rather someone else. A quick glance to Gray who was fast asleep, why would he?

His eyes trailed over the letters and words which had been written into his notebook by the stranger. It was a poem but a rather strange one. It seemed more like a riddle.

 _Three stones_

 _Where should have been four_

 _Cold as bones_

 _And rotten to the core._

 _Seek but hide,_

 _There is more than treasure_

 _Hidden to mind_

 _We seek –_

It wasn't finished, the last word was missing. His forehead wrinkled in deep thought. It was an alternate rhyme so logically the missing word would have to rhyme with "treasure". Harry turned the page and wrote "treasure" on the top of it as the headline. Quickly brainstorming he wrote every word he knew rhyming with it. Pleasure, Leisure, Censure, Measure, Enclosure, Unsure, Assure and Exposure. Unsure and assure didn't fit, he crossed them off and starred a little at the list. They all could fit but maybe he needed to find out more before he could fill in the gab.

What did they mean with "stones"? Maybe they meant stone hedges and one of the stones fell over? Or a statues, fountains, stonewalls, stones on a path, stones in a firepit, there were so many possibilities. "Cold as bones"- could it be? Perhaps they were talking about graves and tombstones? But he was fairly certain that there was no graveyard on the orphanage's property but then again, how could he know? He just arrived. He should definitely go and explore, it was overdue anyways.

Then the most urgent question pushed itself into the foreground. Why? Why would somebody give him a riddle? Was it a test, some kind of rite or ritual? Was it to-

"Ah, Crys, what are you brooding about?", a voice said behind him. Harry threw the notebook shut with one hand and turned around simultaneously. His neck cracked and the other hand shoot up to hold it. Pain expanded through his body starting from his neck.

"You should really pay attention to your surroundings, Crys", Mello said joyfully and took a bite out of his chocolate. Some of the foil fell to the floor but he ignored it. "What are you working on?", he asked curiously and peeked over Harry's shoulder. His breath was hot against Harry's ear and it made him uncomfortable. It smelled sweet, like chocolate.

"N-Nothing, really", Harry said and put his elbow on his notebook for good measures. The pain had stopped and he took his other hand away from his neck. He tried to smile at Mello.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me. You know, one might think that you are hiding something"

Suddenly, the words blurred in his head and he couldn't make out the different meanings anymore. He needed to get out of here, not in front of Mello. He didn't want anybody to know, to know that he was a freak, bizarre and damaged and was about to have a seizure. His head was hurting and the world in front of him melted together. His head was pounding and pulsing even more, it felt like it was going to explode. He groaned but he couldn't really hear himself anymore. Somebody was grabbing his shoulders and he felt himself falling forwards. He couldn't stop it, he felt so helpless, every coherent thought was gone. Then everything was black.

 _It was dark, Harry couldn't make out were he was but it was cold. A breeze was passing by and echoed through the lieu. Almost like in a tunnel. His attention was drawn a circle of persons. There were eight, all wearing long dark cloaks with the hood up. In the middle stood three candles._

" _Thank you for gathering today. Today we will discuss our new recruits. Aristoteles, please tell us about recruit Blue", one of them spoke, maybe the leader of the group? One of them stepped forward and fell to a knee. It reminded Harry a little bit of Voldemort and his followers. Bitter bile was gathering in his mouth and he felt a little nauseous._

" _Thank you Caesar. Recruit Blue has received the first clue two days ago and has started to go on explorations throughout the whole estate but hasn't found anything yet", he said curtly and stepped back._

" _Montesquieu, please step forward and tell us about recruit Yellow", the leader commanded and another figure stepped into the middle of the circle and fell to a knee._

" _Thank you Caesar. Recruit Yellow has also received the clue two day ago but has thrown it out. Probability of recruitment close to zero." Montesquieu stepped back._

" _And now", the leader paused for a second as if to gather his thoughts and he cleared his throat, "Robin Hood, please step forward and report on Recruit Green". His voice sounded a little strained and tired. A figure stepped forward and someone was snickering but also trying to cover it up with a cough which made it just worse._

" _Ehm, yeah, so Recruit Green, well, he received his clue today. The little guy went into the library right away. Such an eager kid. When I saw him, I knew-", Robin Hood was disrupted by the leader "Thank you Robin Hood, that is enough."_

" _Now, Bismarck, tell us about…"_

 _Harry had been listening so intensely that he didn't notice his headache returning. He was thrown back into his body abruptly._

How interesting, so maybe this was the group which had sent him the clue? It had to be, they had talked about him, didn't they? He had to be recruit green. But the meeting had to be held tonight, or maybe tomorrow? It didn't seem so logical that it happened at the very same time as know or even the past.

Harry opened his eyes. He expected to be laying on the ground or maybe even in a hospital bed but no, his head was bedded on something soft. All to soon he realised the situation he was in. He was laying in Mello's lap, his hands holding his head. His body felt tired and his eyes almost falling shut again. Mello looked at him, his eyes analytically looking over him, judging him silently.

"Well, if you didn't want to show me what you where working on, you just would have to tell me, no need to have a full blown seizure. Maybe you should have that checked out", Mello said pushed Harry's head of his lap. He got up, his boots squeaking on the parquet flooring.

"Here is you timetable, I found it while looking through your file", he said and let it slip out of his hand onto the notebook which was still laying on the desk innocently. Opened. Harry didn't find the strength yet to get up but he could feel his body heating up, probably healing him. His muscles where extremely tense and he still felt so tired.

Mello walked away, not looking back. Weird guy.

To the list with the rhymes "Disclosure" had been added and the graveyard had been underlined.

* * *

Gray laid on his back looking up to the high ceiling. From down here everything looked different. Almost as if the world didn't make sense anymore, if it ever did.

"How do you feel?", Bonne asked beside him, toying with a streak of her short hair. She didn't look at him, but he could feel her tension.

"I am managing. I just hate that the new kid sleeps where he used to sleep, that he uses the same desk, the same closet. It is like he is erasing his memory!", he spew out suddenly feeling resentful and bitter all over again.

"I know what you mean. But, shouldn't you be angry at the director and not at C? I mean, is it really his fault that he was placed in your room?", she said, letting the streak of hair fall back and instead crossed her arms behind her head.

"Yeah maybe, but I just get so furious when I look at him. This kid, there is something about him I don't like. Maybe I am lucky and he gets sent back again", Gray noted and turned his head, now looking at the girl beside him. She was the cute type, pretty but not necessarily beautiful. Pleasant to look at but easily forgotten. The freckles on her cheeks made her look younger than she really was. "And you, how are you feeling. And before you say "fine", I know that you are not."

Bonne turned her head looking at him. Her eyes run over his face, searching for something, then she sighed and turned back again. "It is just, I don't know. It feels like I have been sucked into a dark hole without an exit sign anywhere. All I can do is stay where I am and smile even though I want to cry", she whispered. "But don't worry, I mean, I still have my art as an outlet." She smiled at him. Her smile looked wax-like and painful but he returned it anyways.

"I am here for you, you know? I will help you with anything, really", he said to her quietly.

"I know, but the same applies for you, don't forget it."


End file.
